Danger Signals Read online

  "Sorry-keep forgetting about the time difference. It's pretty late there, right?"

  "Yeah, but never mind, I'm up now." Her voice sounded less grumpy and more alert, so he figured she hadn't missed the burr of excitement in his. "So, give. You wouldn't be calling this late if you hadn't found something."

  "Uh, is Cory around? He ought to be the first one to hear this."

  "He's on assignment. He'll be checking in, though, so tell me. And, Holt?"

  "Yeah."

  "If you don't spill it to me this minute, I swear I will send a very large, very muscular-"

  "Okay, okay. I've found something, all right. Not some-thing, actually-someone." He paused, surprised to find a constriction in his throat. Damn, but this case had gotten personal. Too personal. He coughed and said, "It's…Wade. I've found Wade."

  There was silence, then a rustling sound, as if his listener had sat down rather abruptly. The voice, barely audible, said, "You…found him? You're sure? Honest to-"

  "Swear to God." Holt couldn't hold back elated laughter. "His name's Callahan, and he's a cop-yeah, just like Dirty Harry. A homicide detective in Portland, Oregon."

  "Have you talked to him? Does he…"

  "No. I've been watching him for a couple days-just wanted to be sure before I called you guys. I figured Cory should be the one to…you know, break the news."

  "Yeah." There was a long exhalation, then a whispered, "My God, I can't believe you found him. It's been so long-I was beginning to think-"

  "Yeah." said Holt, "me, too. But this is bound to lead to the others. Wade and the other boy-"

  "Matthew."

  "Right. They were adopted by the same couple. I figure he's got to know where his brother is."

  "Oh, Holt-this is beyond great. It's…it's… Oh, man, I can't wait to tell Cory. We're going to find them all. I just know it." Holt wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a break in Sam's voice before she added. "The little girls, too."

  "They're not little girls anymore." he said gruffly. "They're a couple of grown-up women, now. And they were just babies when it all went down. They're not going to remember."

  "I know. But still." Holt heard a sniff. Unmistakable, this time.

  "Sammie June, darlin', are you crying? Samantha? Tough-as-nails charter pilot, never let 'em see you-"

  There was a quiet click in his ear and the cell phone went dead.

  The ringing telephone woke Tee from a restless early morning slumber. Sweaty and achy, she threw back the tumbled covers and stretched her back, trying to work out some of the stiffness resulting from a poor night's sleep before picking up the phone. Which, by that time, had activated the answering machine. She listened, yawning, to her embarrassingly chirpy outgoing message, then stiffened, suddenly wide awake, when she heard the impatient voice begin its reply.

  She snatched it up. shaking and jangled from a burst of adrenaline. "Wade-Detective Callahan-yes. I'm here. What is-"

  The detective's voice was terse. Flat. "Sorry to wake you. We've got another one."

  "Oh-God…"

  "And, Miss Doyle?"

  "Tee-please."

  "Okay.,Miss Tee. What you said about our killer not liking uniforms? Well, looks like he was serious about that, because he just killed a cop. She was one of ours."

  Chapter 3

  Wade stomped the brake, jerked the car to a stop and slapped the gearshift lever into Park. The violence seemed the only way his body would operate, with anger spraying like shrapnel through every nerve.

  "Bastard left her hanging from a chain-link fence." he said, spitting out the words in bitter bites. "Left her hanging there like a broken doll." That's what she'd looked like- a little broken doll.

  He opened the door and got out, then paused with one hand on the roof of the car to look back at his passenger, sitting silent and motionless with her seat belt still fastened. "You coming?"

  She looked up at him like someone awakened from a doze, then nodded. He noticed that she was deathly pale; her freckles reminded him of dried blood speckles on white paper. Her hand shook as she unbuckled her seat belt.

  He looked across the roof of the car at the gray industrial landscape-slabs of concrete and asphalt broken by blocks of corrugated tin buildings and zigzags of chain-link fencing, the only color provided by the yellow or green of a forklift or skid loader tractor, and the flashing lights of the law enforcement and crime scene vehicles gathered like buzzards around a fresh kill. Grim enough on a sunny day. let alone like it was now, socked in by the early morning fog.

  Helluva place for a young woman to leave this earth. Helluva way for a cop to die.

  But just the same, he felt like crap for letting his anger loose the way he'd been doing. Should've remembered the woman-okay, Tierney, Miss Tee, psychic or empath or whatever she was-picked up on emotions. Clearly she'd picked up on his. and the toll it had taken on her couldn't have been faked.

  He took a deep breath, then ducked his head back inside the car to say gruffly. "It's okay, you know, if you want to take a minute."

  She reached for the door handle. "No, that's okay. I'm fine."

  She opened her door and he slammed his and went around the car to take her arm, which he figured was the least he could do. She didn't object, although she probably didn't need his help. Her step was steady enough and she kept pace with him easily as they hurried across the broken asphalt, weaving between the jumble of department vehicles that had circled the crime scene like covered wagons in order to screen from curious eyes what to them was a personal tragedy.

  He wondered if she felt the same weird tingle he did where his fingers touched her.

  Thank God, at least they'd got the body down off the fence and decently covered. Crime scene be damned, she was a police officer. No way in hell they'd leave her hanging there, naked and desecrated like that. Alicia. Her name was Alicia. Wade knew her slightly, had gone through the academy with her. Seemed like he recalled something about her getting engaged recently. Her fiance was in the service. In Iraq.

  "Damn."

  He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until Tierney paused and looked at him. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm just.

  "You're not the only one." Her lips had a pinched look, her eyes squinted as if she had a fearsome headache. "There's so much anger here. So much rage. I can't pick up anything else. From the killer or…"

  "Damn," he said again, and this time exhaled with frustration. Again, he hadn't thought about the effects of so much emotional fallout on the crime scene. Her crime scene. It must be the equivalent of a thunderstorm blowing through his. "Would it help if I had everyone clear out? Leave you alone with…" He couldn't bring himself to say "the body."

  A smile flicked briefly at her lips. "Too late-it's already been contaminated." As if she'd read his thought.

  Then, looking uncertain, she paused, turned to him and said, "Maybe, if I…"

  "What?"

  "If I looked at her." Her blue eyes clung to his, stark with fear.

  He felt something in his chest contract. Ignoring that, and squelching whatever sympathy he felt for her. or admiration for her courage, he said gruffly, "Are you sure you want to do that?" He couldn't afford the sympathy, damn it. A cop was dead. He wanted to catch this dirtbag-whatever it took.

  After a long moment she nodded. He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

  "All right, then." He reached out to her. touched her shoulder. Then, taking her once more by the arm, he guided her through the busy hive of crime scene techs and law enforcement officers, some in uniform, some not. When he drew near to the cadre of officers standing guard around the gurney and the small, shrouded form that lay on it. he spoke to them in a low voice that was mindful of their taut, angry faces and grief-filled eyes. "Gonna ask you to step back for a few minutes, if you would, please." The line shifted, and drew in more tightly around the gurney. "Come on, guys, give us a minute, okay? Give this lady some room."

  Finally, with nods and murmurs and shuf
flings, the line broke, then moved reluctantly back, opening a passage to admit the stranger, the civilian. The outsider.

  Wade drew Tierney gently forward and positioned her beside the body, then knelt and drew back the sheetjust far enough to uncover the victim's face.

  Someone had closed her eyes, he saw. But no way in hell did she look like she was sleeping. Her skin, he remembered, had been a rich warm shade of brown. Now it was a muddy gray, blotched with traces of tears and speckled with her own blood.

  Steeling himself, he sat back on his haunches, pivoted and looked up at Tierney, who was standing frozen, staring down at the ravaged face. As he watched, her own drained of all color and her eyes went wide with shock and horror.

  Well, hell. Okay, he'd pretty much expected that. What he didn't expect was when she then uttered a small, muffled cry, turned and pushed her way through the line of cops, and once free of the crowd, broke into a desperate, stumbling run.

  Swearing to himself and muttering apologies to his fellow officers, Wade went after her.

  He found her behind the CSI van, leaning one shoulder against it and looking as if her knees were about to buckle. She had one hand over her mouth and the other arm folded across her stomach, but even though she had her back to him he knew instantly she wasn't sick, as he'd supposed, but crying. He could see her shoulders shaking, hear the sobbing sounds she made even though she tried to muffle them with her hand.

  He knew she was having a moment of pure panic, though only God knew why. He was accustomed to handling crying women; in his line of work he encountered more than his share of them. They just seemed to naturally gravitate to him. He'd taken some ribbing around the squad room, and earned the nickname "Papa Bear" because of it, too. He didn't like to think about why this particular woman's tears affected him differently. Why they made him hurt deep down in his chest. Why they made his belly quiver.

  He hesitated, part of him wanting to turn tail and walk away and leave her there with her privacy and her grief. Lord knows he didn't need this, not now.

  But then she turned and looked at him with her flooded cheeks and anguished eyes, and no surprise whatsoever. And he kicked himself for once again forgetting who and what she was. Of course she'd know he was there.

  "I saw her," she said, and her voice was choked and thick. "Yesterday…when I-the uniforms. What I said about him-the k-killer. About hating uniforms. I didn't understand. It was her. He'd already chosen-if I'd only-"

  He didn't remember moving, but somehow his arms were wrapped around her, holding her close, and the rest of her litany of blame was muffled by his chest. He felt his heart thumping against her cheek, and he cradled her head in his hand and nestled it more comfortably there.

  "You couldn't have stopped it," he said, the words low and gruff and blown through her hair in soft puffs. "Even if you'd known what you were seeing. Feeling. Hey-we're gonna get this guy. It was too late for her, and that's not on you. But we will get him-I promise you. Okay? We will get him."

  After a moment Tierney nodded and whispered. "Okay."

  She should have pulled away then. Should have stepped back, put a discreet distance between herself and the safe and peaceful harbor of the police detective's arms. But for some reason she couldn't make herself move. She wasn't normally a toucher-didn't really like to be touched, either, especially by strangers. Touching someone, she'd found, opened too broad a channel to the emotions, often exposed even those emotions people kept buried, but shallowly, just under the facades they presented to the world. But here, enfolded in this man's arms, she felt only peace. A wondrous, restful stillness. As if the barricades he'd built to block his own emotions kept all others from intruding, as well. After the bombardment she'd just endured, the respite was almost too lovely to bear.

  "Uh, Lieutenant- Oh. sorry…"

  Just that easily the peace was shattered.

  Tierney stiffened, and so did the arms that sheltered her. She moved away from her protector, wiping hastily at her cheeks, while he turned, frowning, to meet the intruder. She'd met him before-a tough-looking, middle-aged black man with kind eyes. She could feel concern and compassion rolling off of him in gentle waves, flowing over her like healing oil.

  "Yeah, Ed." Wade said.

  The black man's eyes slipped past him to find Tierney instead. "You doin' okay, ma'am?"

  "She's fine. What've you got?"

  "Crime scenes can be tough, I know." He was still looking at Tierney. "I believe I'd worry if you didn't feel bad."

  She nodded. Wade made a growling sound low in his throat and the other cop turned his attention back to him without undue haste.

  "Yeah, partner…got something over here I think you're gonna want to see."

  The two men started off at a hurrying pace, and since no one told her she shouldn't, Tierney followed. The truth was, she felt a little ashamed about losing control the way she had, and was hoping for a chance to redeem herself.

  Wade followed his former partner past the crime scene and the knot of official vehicles and into the maze of industrial buildings and loading docks that ran along the riverfront. He turned into a long, wide avenue that ran between two rows of buildings, bisected by a drainage channel and lined with trash bins, where several CSIs were busily setting out numbered markers and taking photographs. The primary object of their interest appeared to be a small pile of ashes and charred fabric located in the drainage channel about halfway down the row.

  '"Couple of unis found it during a routine canvas of the area." Ed said. "Ashes were still warm and wet, so that puts the time about right."

  "What makes you think it isn't just some wino's campfire?"

  "This." Ed looked at the CSI hovering near the pile.

  She nodded, and with a pair of tweezers carefully picked up a tiny scrap of partly charred fabric that had been marked with a numbered flag. She held it so Wade could get a close look at it. He did. and felt his stomach go cold. Small as it was, it was instantly recognizable as a piece of the Portland P.D. uniform's shoulder patch.

  The CSI put the scrap back where she'd found it and stepped back to give him room. He squatted down to get a closer look, and that was when the smell hit him.

  "Whoa," he said, rearing back, "tell me that's not-"

  Ed snorted. "Yeah, it is. The dirtbag peed on it."

  "It was the final insult."

  Three heads jerked toward the new voice. Tierney was standing a few yards away, arms folded across her waist, so quietly they'd all but forgotten she was there. Her face had that pale, pinched look again, but this time she seemed to have herself in better control.

  "It's the uniform he despises," she went on in the same uneven, almost-gentle voice. "Particularly women in uniform. He tortures them while they're wearing the uniform, then strips it off before he kills them. To make them see they're weak without it-that they're nothing at all, not even human. They can't hurt him. But in his mind the uniform is the source of power. It can hurt him. So he has to 'kill' it, too. He burns it. And when it's nothing but ashes, he…um-"

  "Urinates on it." Wade said grimly. "As you said, it's the final act of desecration." She nodded. He looked at her for a long moment, and in her shimmering eyes he saw what it must have cost her to feel what she'd felt, and speak of it so calmly.

  He rose and nodded to the CSI, who went back to methodically measuring and photographing and cataloging while he took Tierney's arm and turned her away from the pitiful remains of Officer Alicia Williams's uniform.

  "There's nothing more we can do here," he said in a hard voice as Ed fell into step with him. "Just let the techs and science people do their jobs. We need to move on this uniform angle. And fast. The bastard's killed twice in two days. What I want to know is, why didn't we find his burn site at the other crime scenes?"

  Ed shrugged. "Didn't canvas wide enough? Maybe he had to go a ways to find a safe place. Here, he had this whole complex pretty much to himself. And maybe the other vies weren't wearing the uniform when
they were killed, who knows?"

  "They were," Tierney said, the rapid pace making her voice bumpy. "It's part of what makes him… I don't know what you call it-"

  "It's the trigger," Wade said grimly. "Ed, get back to the squad. I want everybody available looking for some kind of uniform link for the other vics."

  "The last one was a docent at the art museum," Ed reminded him. "Don't they wear uniforms?"

  Wade nodded. "That's two. Work the others. If you find a connection, then start working on a profile for our killer. I'm thinking we're looking at a victim of abuse, here. Most likely at the hands of a woman. A woman in uniform. Could be his mother, could be-"

  "It's not his mother," Tierney said, then threw him a look of apology. "At least, I don't think so. I don't get that kind of feeling from him. I think it may have been some kind of institution. A school…or an orphanage…"

  "I don't think they even have orphanages anymore, do they?" Ed said doubtfully.

  "I don't know." Wade said, "but we need to find out."

  "If you're still thinking you could have done anything to prevent this latest killing, you need to quit." Wade growled after they'd driven half of the way back to Tierney's apartment in silence.

  Tierney stirred and looked over at him. "I'm not."

  "It was a good lead. Now we know what the victims have in common-at least the last two. and I'm going out on a limb, here, and saying odds are the others will, too. We know what the trigger is. We're beginning to know who we're dealing with and how we might be able to start looking for him. That's huge."

  She gave a small sigh. "I was just thinking about… him. Who he is, what made him what he is."

  She didn't tell the hard-edged cop she was beginning to feel some sympathy for the man she knew he must think of as a vicious animal. It was one of the hazards of being an empath, and she'd learned to keep those feelings to herself. But she understood now that the person they were trying so desperately to find was a victim himself, that like so many who are driven to kill, he'd been shaped- warped-by unspeakable cruelty at the hands of someone who should have been his protector.