Lewellyn seemed reluctant to let her go, and Thea knew the old woman was probably lonely. She had no family that Thea knew of, nor any friends who came calling. Except for her church work, Mrs. Lewellyn seemed as isolated as Thea and Nikki. For a moment Thea wondered if the older woman had something in her past that she was hiding from, too.
Not likely, Thea decided as she turned down the hall to her apartment. Mrs. Lewellyn was probably just an old woman who had outlived most of her friends and family.
Something that might have been self-pity tugged at Thea’s heart, and she had a vision of herself at that age, alone, bitter and still running. And what about Nikki? What kind of life had Thea sentenced her daughter to?
In a way Nikki was in her own prison. The trauma of that night, seeing her father dead on the floor, seeing the gun in her mother’s hand, had sent the child running to her own dark place. A silent place.
Dr. Nevin, the child psychologist Nikki was seeing, had warned Thea that her daughter’s treatment might take a long time. It could be months, even years, before Nikki trusted enough, felt safe enough, to speak. Until then, all Thea could do was be patient.
But sometimes it was so hard, seeing her daughter struggle. Thea wanted to fight Nikki’s battles for her. She wanted to crawl into that cold quiet place and slay every last one of her daughter’s dragons. After all, she was the one who had caused Nikki’s trauma, and if she could take back that night, if she could change the course of events that had led to Rick’s death, she would.
But her ex-husband would have killed her that night if she hadn’t pulled the trigger on her father’s gun. He might even have hurt Nikki. And that Thea could never allow.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Mrs. Lewellyn had closed her door, but an uneasiness stole over her that she couldn’t seem to shake. Maybe it was the thought of Rick and what she’d done, but it almost seemed as if someone was watching her. Judging her.
You’re losing it, Thea scolded herself as she approached her apartment door. Sensing an invisible watcher was nothing new. Thea had long since become accustomed to glancing over her shoulder.
“You’re safe,” she muttered under her breath. No one was watching her. And now that she had an explanation for how Nikki’s doll had gotten on the roof, she and her daughter were in the clear with the police.
Once she told Detective Gallagher what had happened, there would be no reason for their further involvement in the case. There would be no point in his coming around anymore. He would be out of their lives for good. And her and Nikki’s secret would remain safe.
But as she inserted the key into the lock, a chill crawled up her backbone, and she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder once more. The hallway behind her was empty, and Mrs. Lewellyn’s door was still closed. No one was about.
But Thea couldn’t shake the chill. She stepped quickly into her apartment and closed the door, but not all the way. She listened through a tiny crack, and almost instantly, she heard the telltale click as a door somewhere in the hall was closed.
FIRST THING Monday morning John went around to his uncle’s office at the station and knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me?”
Liam Gallagher glanced up from the report he’d been reading and motioned John into his office. Pushing sixty, Liam was still a handsome man with a shock of snow-white hair and bright blue eyes, which reflected his humor almost as often as his quick temper.
He was a seasoned detective who’d started out as a beat cop on Chicago’s south side nearly forty years ago, just as his father had before him and his younger brother, Sean, had after him. Liam’s son, Miles, worked in Narcotics. They were, as John had told Thea Lockhart, a family of cops.
Liam waited until John was seated, then said, “I asked Lieutenant McIntyre to send you down here because I wanted to talk to you about the report you and your partner filed yesterday morning.”
“You mean the Gail Waters case?”
Liam stuck a pair of bifocals on his broad Irish nose and glanced down at the paperwork on his desk. “McIntyre said you’d requested a follow-up investigation.”
“Is that a problem?”
His uncle glared at him over the rims of his glasses. “You know it is. We’re short over two hundred detectives in this division, and only half the homicides in this city get solved. I don’t have the time or the manpower to waste on a case that should be cleared.”
“I know, I know.” John sighed, all too familiar with the shortage of detectives and the stack of uncleared murder files waiting on his desk. He’d pulled a double watch for so long now he couldn’t remember what it was like to get home at a decent time or have more than four or five hours of uninterrupted sleep at night. He plowed an impatient hand through his hair. “I’m not convinced Gail Waters killed herself.”
“The evidence says otherwise.” Liam opened the folder containing John and Roy Cox’s reports and the preliminary autopsy findings. “No defense wounds, no hair, tissue or blood beneath her nails. No trace evidence or fingerprints at the scene. Toxicology tests clean. Contrecoup contusions to the brain, which means she was killed by the fall.” He closed the folder with an unmistakable finality.
If it walks like a suicide, quacks like a suicide…
John shifted in his chair. “Look, we spent most of the day yesterday canvassing the building and interviewing the tenants. We haven’t even had a chance yet to talk to her co-workers and family, let alone go through all her files. She has a database with hundreds, maybe thousands, of names from missing persons and fugitive reports she collected from every major police department in the country. One of those names could be a lead, but it’ll take days to go through that list.”
“And if you don’t find anything?”
John shrugged. “Then I don’t. All I’m asking is for a little more time. We haven’t been able to find out much about this woman except that she was a newspaper reporter. We still don’t know why she was at that building on Saturday night or who she went to see.”
As John spoke, an image of Nikki Lockhart came to his mind. The little girl’s dark eyes and solemn face haunted him, and he couldn’t shake the notion that she might have seen something that night. Might know something she couldn’t tell him.
And what about the kid’s mother? What was she hiding? John didn’t like to admit it, but Thea Lockhart haunted him, too. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind all day yesterday after he’d left her, and all night last night when he’d tried to catch a few hours’ sleep.
It wasn’t so much that he was drawn to her, he told himself, but that he was intrigued by her. She was extraordinarily feminine with her soulful eyes and dark curly hair, but John had the distinct impression her appearance was deceiving. There was something about the way she carried herself, the fierce way she guarded her little girl that made him think she would be a formidable adversary if crossed.
“There’s something else you need to know,” John said hesitantly. “Something I didn’t put in the report.”
His uncle frowned. “What?”
John got up and closed the office door. The squad room was crowded and noisy as always, but he didn’t want to take the chance his conversation might be overheard. “Gail Waters called me a few
