being here.” Catherine was furious. “If you want information, I suggest you speak to the police. I have nothing to say to you. And if I find you here again, I’ll have security remove you!”
“Oh, come now, Doctor, surely you want this maniac caught,” he persisted, blocking her path with his body.
She maneuvered around him. “Indeed, I do, Mr. Tyler, which is why I have nothing to say to you.”
At last she was able to escape, wondering as she ducked into the stairwell how he had found out about Janet. The police had warned them to keep the circumstances of her admission quiet, and she thought they had succeeded. She should have known there were no secrets in a hospital. The police presence alone, no matter how understated, was enough to start rumors. Her first impulse was to call Rebecca, but then she thought it could probably wait until they spoke again about Janet. After all, she hadn’t told him anything.
Chapter Thirteen
Watts saw Rebecca heading for the stairs in one hell of a hurry. He’d been hanging around outside the IAD offices, waiting for her to finish with the interview. He hurried after her.
“Where you going?” he demanded just as she reached the door.
She spun around, aware that he was right behind her. He took a step back, surprised.
“Look, Watts, I’m going out. Okay? Now go back to your paperwork.”
When she began to turn, he grabbed her arm and stepped between her and the fire door. “Out where?”
Rebecca stared at the beefy hand on her arm and slowly raised her eyes to his. Her eyes were flat and so cold that his blood curdled. He hastily let his hand drop, but he stood firmly in her path.
“Watts…” she said menacingly, struggling to keep her temper under control. She had a fierce headache, and she was in no mood for conversation.
“Look, Sarge, I’m not any happier about this than you are, but that’s the way it is. So it’s a bitch. There’s nothing we can do about it.” He waited for some reaction, but Rebecca stared past him at some small spot on the opposite wall, her jaw clenching spasmodically. Watts shook a cigarette out of a crumpled pack, lit it, and leaned against the door, apparently content to stay there all afternoon. Another muscle in Rebecca’s face twitched.
“I’m going to check in with Homicide, fill them in on some background on Zamora. Maybe I can help,” she said reluctantly.
Watts blew a perfect smoke ring, watching it float and break apart, considering her words. “The Homicide dicks can handle the case, Sarge. They’re not going to screw up when it’s one of our own. Why not let them do their jobs. We’ve got plenty on our plates right here.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Rebecca said heatedly, shouldering him aside and pushing the door open.
“Oh, fuck it,” Watts muttered as he listened to her footsteps echo in the stairwell.
Rebecca slammed out through the door into the parking lot. Watts was right, and she knew it. Still, she had to see for herself that everything possible was being done to find Jeff’s killer.
I have to do something.
She slid into her car and started making calls. She finally tracked down the whereabouts of the investigating officers and drove to the waterfront. The crime scene crew was still there, too. She could see Dee Flanagan standing on the edge of the pier, just above the floating dock where Rebecca had found the bodies. Several other techs were scouring the parking lot, walking the grid, collecting evidence.
“I’m sorry, Frye,” Dee said gruffly when Rebecca walked up beside her. Like Rebecca, like most cops, her way of coping with almost anything that angered or hurt her was to concentrate on the job.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Rebecca said, her tone just as raw but her eyes revealing none of her pain. “Anything?”
Flanagan, dressed in faded but pressed jeans and a dark blue T-shirt with “CSI” stenciled in yellow on the breast above a police logo, grunted. “Plenty. This
“Oh, come now, Doctor, surely you want this maniac caught,” he persisted, blocking her path with his body.
She maneuvered around him. “Indeed, I do, Mr. Tyler, which is why I have nothing to say to you.”
At last she was able to escape, wondering as she ducked into the stairwell how he had found out about Janet. The police had warned them to keep the circumstances of her admission quiet, and she thought they had succeeded. She should have known there were no secrets in a hospital. The police presence alone, no matter how understated, was enough to start rumors. Her first impulse was to call Rebecca, but then she thought it could probably wait until they spoke again about Janet. After all, she hadn’t told him anything.
Chapter Thirteen
Watts saw Rebecca heading for the stairs in one hell of a hurry. He’d been hanging around outside the IAD offices, waiting for her to finish with the interview. He hurried after her.
“Where you going?” he demanded just as she reached the door.
She spun around, aware that he was right behind her. He took a step back, surprised.
“Look, Watts, I’m going out. Okay? Now go back to your paperwork.”
When she began to turn, he grabbed her arm and stepped between her and the fire door. “Out where?”
Rebecca stared at the beefy hand on her arm and slowly raised her eyes to his. Her eyes were flat and so cold that his blood curdled. He hastily let his hand drop, but he stood firmly in her path.
“Watts…” she said menacingly, struggling to keep her temper under control. She had a fierce headache, and she was in no mood for conversation.
“Look, Sarge, I’m not any happier about this than you are, but that’s the way it is. So it’s a bitch. There’s nothing we can do about it.” He waited for some reaction, but Rebecca stared past him at some small spot on the opposite wall, her jaw clenching spasmodically. Watts shook a cigarette out of a crumpled pack, lit it, and leaned against the door, apparently content to stay there all afternoon. Another muscle in Rebecca’s face twitched.
“I’m going to check in with Homicide, fill them in on some background on Zamora. Maybe I can help,” she said reluctantly.
Watts blew a perfect smoke ring, watching it float and break apart, considering her words. “The Homicide dicks can handle the case, Sarge. They’re not going to screw up when it’s one of our own. Why not let them do their jobs. We’ve got plenty on our plates right here.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Rebecca said heatedly, shouldering him aside and pushing the door open.
“Oh, fuck it,” Watts muttered as he listened to her footsteps echo in the stairwell.
Rebecca slammed out through the door into the parking lot. Watts was right, and she knew it. Still, she had to see for herself that everything possible was being done to find Jeff’s killer.
I have to do something.
She slid into her car and started making calls. She finally tracked down the whereabouts of the investigating officers and drove to the waterfront. The crime scene crew was still there, too. She could see Dee Flanagan standing on the edge of the pier, just above the floating dock where Rebecca had found the bodies. Several other techs were scouring the parking lot, walking the grid, collecting evidence.
“I’m sorry, Frye,” Dee said gruffly when Rebecca walked up beside her. Like Rebecca, like most cops, her way of coping with almost anything that angered or hurt her was to concentrate on the job.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Rebecca said, her tone just as raw but her eyes revealing none of her pain. “Anything?”
Flanagan, dressed in faded but pressed jeans and a dark blue T-shirt with “CSI” stenciled in yellow on the breast above a police logo, grunted. “Plenty. This
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