on both occasions, so the investigations stopped before they went farther."
"Until now," the DA investigator put in.
"Either one, King or Hart, could be our source." Dimeo mulled this over, liking it. "Or both. Supplying Young with drugs they picked up at Three Rivers."
"What about the new rave over at the West End Bridge?" Drake interjected, trying to deflect their attention from Hart. It was too early to be focusing on only one suspect. Especially when he was certain Hart had nothing to do with the FX thefts.
"That might be where the teeny-boppers are buying, but we need to get the actor behind all this. And now we know it has to be someone with a connection to Three Rivers Medical Center," Dimeo said. Kwon nodded her agreement. "We can't afford to let another high level source to slip through our fingers." They all looked at Drake, as if he was responsible for Lester's death.
"So we focus on Three Rivers," Kwon said. "Especially Richard King."
"If they're divorced, spousal privilege no longer applies," Dimeo said. "Nail Hart. Then we can use her to get King."
CHAPTER 19
One of the advantages of working nights was being always able to find a parking space when you drove home in the morning. Cassie pulled into an open spot halfway up Gettysburg Street's hill. Point Breeze was one of those Pittsburgh neighborhoods whose residents still sat out on their stoops in nice weather, and if you put a kitchen chair out to save a parking place, no one would dream of moving it. People who lived in the upscale condos Downtown or in chic Shadyside thought of Point Breeze as "quaint", but to Cassie it was just home, the only home she had ever known.
She waved across the street to Mrs. Ferrara who, despite the flurries and the rain forecast for later that day, was washing the outside of her front parlor windows. Cassie noticed the streaky grime that coated her own windows and grimaced. Gram Rosa would have been mortified.
She climbed the concrete steps to her front door, closed the solid oak door behind her, leaned against it, and the turbulence of the night's events faded from her mind. A few breaths later, and she felt the calmness of the house begin to envelope her. She looked around her living room with its comfortable familiarity. Her father's favorite chair still waited for him, his pipe and tobacco resting nearby. Rosa's silk shawl sprawled over the back of the sofa, its bright colors repeated in the pillows at either end.
Cassie hung up her coat, kicked off her boots, and traced one finger over the fringe of the shawl. Hennessy, her fat tortoiseshell cat, head-butted her shin, pushing her into the kitchen. Cassie translated the accompanying meows as: feeding fat cats should come before everything else. Conceding the point, she measured a cup of the special diet cat food the vet charged outrageously for. Hennessy sat back on her haunches looking from the bowl with its meager offerings to Cassie.
"Sorry, girl, that's all you're allowed." She scratched behind the cat's ears. Hennessy stiffened her tail in indignation and stalked from the room.
Cassie sighed. Some days you just couldn't please anyone.
After an hour in the basement with her weights and heavy bag, she finally exhausted herself enough to entertain sleep as an option. She fell asleep in her sweat soaked T-shirt and shorts, face down on her bed, Gram Rosa's heavy velvet patchwork quilt blanketing her.
Sleep for Cassie was often elusive and never restful. How could it be with so many people clamoring for her attention? Patients she could have, should have saved. Her mother, who she'd never known and who had died because of her. Gram Rosa with her scent of lilac and lavender. Her father's face, gaunt and twisted by pain, silhouetted by broken glass glistening in winter sunlight.
All the people who loved her--all gone now, except in her dreams.
Today she dreamed of dancing on the
"Until now," the DA investigator put in.
"Either one, King or Hart, could be our source." Dimeo mulled this over, liking it. "Or both. Supplying Young with drugs they picked up at Three Rivers."
"What about the new rave over at the West End Bridge?" Drake interjected, trying to deflect their attention from Hart. It was too early to be focusing on only one suspect. Especially when he was certain Hart had nothing to do with the FX thefts.
"That might be where the teeny-boppers are buying, but we need to get the actor behind all this. And now we know it has to be someone with a connection to Three Rivers Medical Center," Dimeo said. Kwon nodded her agreement. "We can't afford to let another high level source to slip through our fingers." They all looked at Drake, as if he was responsible for Lester's death.
"So we focus on Three Rivers," Kwon said. "Especially Richard King."
"If they're divorced, spousal privilege no longer applies," Dimeo said. "Nail Hart. Then we can use her to get King."
CHAPTER 19
One of the advantages of working nights was being always able to find a parking space when you drove home in the morning. Cassie pulled into an open spot halfway up Gettysburg Street's hill. Point Breeze was one of those Pittsburgh neighborhoods whose residents still sat out on their stoops in nice weather, and if you put a kitchen chair out to save a parking place, no one would dream of moving it. People who lived in the upscale condos Downtown or in chic Shadyside thought of Point Breeze as "quaint", but to Cassie it was just home, the only home she had ever known.
She waved across the street to Mrs. Ferrara who, despite the flurries and the rain forecast for later that day, was washing the outside of her front parlor windows. Cassie noticed the streaky grime that coated her own windows and grimaced. Gram Rosa would have been mortified.
She climbed the concrete steps to her front door, closed the solid oak door behind her, leaned against it, and the turbulence of the night's events faded from her mind. A few breaths later, and she felt the calmness of the house begin to envelope her. She looked around her living room with its comfortable familiarity. Her father's favorite chair still waited for him, his pipe and tobacco resting nearby. Rosa's silk shawl sprawled over the back of the sofa, its bright colors repeated in the pillows at either end.
Cassie hung up her coat, kicked off her boots, and traced one finger over the fringe of the shawl. Hennessy, her fat tortoiseshell cat, head-butted her shin, pushing her into the kitchen. Cassie translated the accompanying meows as: feeding fat cats should come before everything else. Conceding the point, she measured a cup of the special diet cat food the vet charged outrageously for. Hennessy sat back on her haunches looking from the bowl with its meager offerings to Cassie.
"Sorry, girl, that's all you're allowed." She scratched behind the cat's ears. Hennessy stiffened her tail in indignation and stalked from the room.
Cassie sighed. Some days you just couldn't please anyone.
After an hour in the basement with her weights and heavy bag, she finally exhausted herself enough to entertain sleep as an option. She fell asleep in her sweat soaked T-shirt and shorts, face down on her bed, Gram Rosa's heavy velvet patchwork quilt blanketing her.
Sleep for Cassie was often elusive and never restful. How could it be with so many people clamoring for her attention? Patients she could have, should have saved. Her mother, who she'd never known and who had died because of her. Gram Rosa with her scent of lilac and lavender. Her father's face, gaunt and twisted by pain, silhouetted by broken glass glistening in winter sunlight.
All the people who loved her--all gone now, except in her dreams.
Today she dreamed of dancing on the
Similar Books
