Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Tuesday, July 8, 5:05 A.M.

Jacob Warwick had loved the smell of a boxing gym since he was a kid. The leather. The sweat. The liniment. He also loved

the rhythmic sound of gloves hitting the speed bag, the thump against the heavy bag, and the skipping rope scraping the floor.

All conjured feelings of home . Not so surprising since he’d grown up in Myers’s Gym.

He drove his fists into the punching bag suspended from the ceiling, savoring the burn in his muscles, the rapid pumping of

his heart, and the sweat on his body. There wasn’t anyone else working out at this early hour. The gym didn’t officially open

until six, but because Pete had given him a key he could come and go as he pleased. Often he boxed early.

By seven, the place would be full of men training and fighters sparring in the ring.

‘Let me adjust those laces for you,’ Pete Myers’s familiar rusty voice said behind him.

Jacob wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his glove. ‘What are you doing here this early? I’d have figured you

wouldn’t get here for another hour.’

Pete flashed a grin. ‘Ah, you know me. I’m not much of a sleeper and I like it here better than at home.’ Barring a few extra gray hairs, the sixty-nine-year-old man looked exactly

like he had the first day Jacob had met him twenty years ago. He stood a few inches under six feet, kept his body fit by sparring

daily, and always wore a wide grin. ‘Let me see your glove. The laces look loose.’

The tension in Jacob’s body eased as he held out his gloved hands. ‘Thanks.’

When Jacob had first found Myers’s gym, he’d been twelve and his mother had been on a weeklong drunken binge. Angry and wanting

to wreck something, Jacob had stolen a dozen eggs from the market and made a beeline for the gym, which was celebrating its

grand opening. Jacob had covered the freshly painted exterior with yolk. It had been a real laugh until a pissed Myers had

come looking for him. Jacob hadn’t figured the old man could run so damn fast or that he’d chase Jacob two blocks before catching

him. The ex-boxer’s grip had been like iron.

Myers had dragged Jacob home, taken one look at Jacob’s drunken mother, and then called Social Services. Jacob’s mother hadn’t

fought for her son, and within two weeks, Jacob was living in the small apartment above the gym with Pete. The two had clashed

a lot in the beginning, but Pete had never given up on Jacob.

That was twenty years ago. And a day never passed when Jacob didn’t thank God for Pete. The old boxer had saved his life.

Pete tightened the laces. ‘So why are you here so early?’

‘I needed to break a sweat before work.’ Jacob hit the long punching bag hanging from the ceiling, testing the laces.

Pete got behind the bag and steadied it. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Yeah. Kier and I have a homicide.’

‘Who died?’

‘Harold Turner. It was on the news last night.’

Pete snorted. ‘I saw that. Can’t say I’m too sorry. A dead attorney ain’t gonna make me miss sleep.’

Sweat dampened Jacob’s T-shirt as he pounded the bag. ‘Yeah, he wasn’t exactly a model citizen.’

‘You guys got a suspect?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You’re a smart kid. You’ll figure it out.’

Jacob hit the bag again. Normally, he didn’t talk about cases but Pete was family. ‘This case could be a little dicey. Kier’s

wife is right in the middle of the investigation.’

‘Not good for Kier.’

‘Nothing is good when it comes to Kier. The guy is a disaster waiting to happen.’

Pete frowned. ‘Is he drinking again?’

‘No, so far I’ve not gotten a hint that he’s had a drop. But once a drunk always a drunk.’

‘Your partner ain’t your mother, kid. From what you’ve said over the last few months, Kier seems to be getting his shit together.’

‘We’ll see.’

Pete’s gaze grew serious. ‘So how long you going to make the guy jump through hoops before you cut him some slack?’

‘I’ll let you know when he reaches it.’

‘The department was smart to pair you up with Kier. You’ll keep him straight. He might even get you to lighten up.’

The old man’s confidence meant everything to Jacob. ‘I don’t want to baby-sit. And I sure as shit don’t need a friend. I want

a partner I can count on.’

Pete nodded thoughtfully. ‘Until the guy screws up, cut him some slack.’

Jacob knew he couldn’t do that. ‘Sure.’

Pete understood some of his foster son’s scars ran deep. And he knew when to change the subject. ‘So when are you going to

bring Sharon around the gym again? I liked her.’

A twinge of regret nagged Jacob. ‘Sharon and I are history.’

Pete shook his head. ‘Damn. The gal is built like a brick house and can cook. What the hell more do you want from a woman?’

‘Sharon was fine. It just didn’t work out.’

The old man swore. ‘Bachelorhood ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. A man should have a wife and children.’

Imitating Pete’s raspy voice, Jacob said, ‘Dames are more trouble than they are worth. I do just fine by myself.’

Wrinkles deepened in Pete’s forehead as he smiled. ‘Don’t you want a family of your own, Mr Smart-mouth?’

‘No.’ Jacob hit the bag. Truthfully, the idea made him feel backed into a corner. ‘Besides, you never had a family.’

Pete shrugged. ‘Keeping you out of trouble wore me out.’

Jacob frowned. ‘Did you ever regret taking me in?’

The old man grinned and shook his head. ‘You drove me to the brink of insanity more times than I could count, but I was never

sorry I took you in. I’m only sorry your mother never let me formally adopt you.’

Emotion tightened Jacob’s chest. He hit the bag harder.

‘If you don’t ease up on that bag, the bones in your hand are gonna look like Swiss cheese,’ Pete said.

‘I don’t want to ease up. It feels good to push myself.’

‘It’s not a matter of what you want, kid; it’s a matter of what you need. Lay off for today. You’ve done enough.’

Jacob stopped. His muscles ached with fatigue, just the way he liked it. But he always listened to Pete.

Pete grabbed a clean towel for Jacob and handed it to him.

‘Thanks.’

Pete started to unlace Jacob’s right glove. ‘So I guess you’ll be working this weekend?’

‘Depends on the case.’ Jacob wiped the sweat from his eyes. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘I’m looking for a sparring partner for a fighter. I want to schedule a few friendly rounds on Saturday.’

‘I’d love to do it. I should know by late Thursday how the case is going.’

Pete nodded, satisfied. ‘Great. I knew I could count on you.’

Whoever said life was supposed to be easy?

The words Lindsay’s mother had spoken to her so often played in Lindsay’s head as she cradled a cup of coffee in her hands. She sat in an Adirondack chair on the back patio garden of her town house. The sun had crept up high in the sky

but the air remained comfortable, thanks to yesterday’s storms, which had banished a lot of the humidity.

The rains had been a welcome respite from the July heat for her gardens, which covered most of her ten-by-twelve backyard.

Her yard was separated from the others by a tall privacy fence that looked like all the others in the development. However,

her yard was completely unlike the others, which were little more than patchy plots of grass.

Her yard was an oasis. She’d only been in this town house eleven months, but already she’d filled the tiny land plot with

numerous flower pots overflowing with brightly colored annuals, including marigolds and petunias. There were more pots filled

with tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and sweet peas.

Lindsay had learned to garden from her mother, who had always kept a lush garden. Her mother had always taken pride in her

tomatoes, which frequently placed in the county fair, and her roses, which were once photographed for the paper. Her mother

had spent hours in that garden, tenderly caring for her plants. Lindsay had loved digging alongside her mother in the rich

soil. In the garden not only could they create, but they could escape her father’s foul moods.

Sipping her coffee, Lindsay wished she had more gardening space and more land. One day, she’d have a real home with property

around it to plant bushes and trees, and a vegetable garden. One day.

A flicker of movement caught Lindsay’s attention. She turned as Nicole pushed open the sliding glass doors. Her friend wore

an oversized T-shirt and long pajama pants that brushed her ankles. Blond hair swept high on her head in a rubber band accented

clear green eyes and a high slash of cheekbones.

Nicole surveyed the garden. ‘You and your garden. I’m starting to think it’s an obsession.’

Lindsay stretched out her legs. ‘What can I say? I’m a sucker for greenery.’

Nicole sat in a matching Adirondack chair next to Lindsay. She touched a bright yellow marigold blossom in a pot next to her

chair. ‘Remember sophomore year in college when we had the room that overlooked a flat roof?’

‘How could I forget? We lived next to that girl who liked to play Broadway tunes at five in the morning. I swear, if I ever

hear the theme to Cats again I’ll go nuts.’

Nicole smiled. ‘I was thinking about your garden.’

‘I filled the windowsill with pots.’

‘And when the windowsill filled, you expanded your garden pots onto the roof. Inch by inch you took it over and filled it

with every kind of vegetable imaginable. I’m surprised security didn’t bust you.’

Lindsay sipped her coffee again, hiding a grin. ‘Actually, they did. Mr Wheeler, the head of security, found the garden and

threatened to tear it down. I gave him a few tomatoes to try and he was hooked. I supplied him with vegetables all spring

and he looked the other way.’

‘Bribery? I’m shocked, Ms O’Neil.’

Lindsay laughed. ‘I learned early on how to work the system.’

Nicole’s normally tanned skin looked pale, tired. At first, Lindsay had attributed it to her change in hair color. Lindsay

had cut Nicole’s dark hair and helped her dye it blond. It was a shame because her black hair had been so beautiful.

‘Want some coffee?’ Lindsay offered. ‘I just made a fresh pot.’

Nicole held up a hand in surrender. ‘No, thanks. I’m a little queasy again. I think I’ve caught another bug from one of the

kids I photographed. I had one yesterday sneeze all over me.’

‘So, how was work last night?’

She tucked her legs underneath her. ‘Good and bad. I actually got some great shots of the two kids I photographed. Their mother

was thrilled and she ended up ordering twice as many prints as she’d planned.’

‘Good. What was the bad part?’

‘My boss, Bill, loves my work too. He keeps raving about it. He keeps wondering how such a talented photographer landed on

his doorstep.’

‘Why is that bad?’

She brushed her bangs out of her face. ‘He wants to enter some of my photography in a national competition. Says the publicity

would be great for his business. I really was flattered. I’d gotten so used to downplaying my work. And it’s been too long

since someone has praised my photos. I’d forgotten how much I missed that.’

Lindsay set her cup down on the arm of the chair. She understood living in secret was hard, but it was necessary right now. ‘Nicole, you can’t enter a national competition.’

‘I know, I know. I’m not foolish enough to risk national exposure.’ She drummed her fingers on the chair’s arm. ‘But I really

hate living under the radar. I want my life back. And I want a divorce.’

‘You’ve only been here a couple of weeks. The bruises have only just faded and you’re running on raw emotion. It’s very natural

that you’d be angry.’

‘I am angry. In fact, I’m furious. Last night I woke up and was so mad I couldn’t get back to sleep.’

Lindsay kept her tone even. She remembered how battered Nicole had been when she’d first arrived. And from what little Nicole

had shared about her marriage, Lindsay knew Richard was a monster. ‘And if Richard were to find you, he would force you back

to San Francisco. And I’m afraid he would treat you far worse than before.’

Nicole picked at a loose chip of paint on the chair arm. ‘This is the twenty-first century. It shouldn’t be this way. I have

rights too.’

‘I know, I know. This isn’t fair. But sometimes it’s better to be safe than right. Sometimes the only solution is to just

vanish.’

A heavy silence settled between them. ‘I’m starting to feel like Christina Braxton died. She’s starting to feel like a distant

memory.’

‘She became Nicole Piper. And Nicole Piper is going to have a wonderful life.’

‘But I’ll always worry. I’ll always have to look over my shoulder. Unless I get lucky and Richard drops dead.’

Lindsay understood Nicole was in a no-win situation and didn’t bother with platitudes. ‘What time do you work today?’

‘Three.’ Nicole shifted in her seat and looked through the sliding glass doors at the wall clock. ‘Hey, it’s almost eight.

You’re running late.’

Lindsay had been up since six. She’d practiced her yoga for almost ninety minutes, trying to fill her time and to push the

murder and Zack from her mind. ‘I don’t have to be in the office until nine.’

‘Is today a shelter day?’

‘No, I’m working out of the Mental Health Services building today.’ She hesitated. She didn’t want to tell Nicole about the

murder, because she didn’t want her to worry. But better Nicole hear from her about what had happened. ‘We had some trouble

at the shelter yesterday.’

A deep crease formed on Nicole’s forehead. ‘What happened?’

Lindsay chose her words carefully. ‘Ruby, the Sunday night volunteer, found a body behind the shelter near the trash cans.’

Nicole lurched forward. ‘What!’

Lindsay held up her hands. ‘The cops have identified the guy. He’s a local attorney who apparently had lots of enemies.’ She

skipped the details about the flowers, the severed hand, and the Guardian’s note. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, because

it has nothing to do with you or Richard.’

Nicole’s expression grew more serious. ‘Lindsay, don’t patronize me. A dead body is something to worry about. How did he die?’

Lindsay picked at the chipping paint on her chair arm. ‘He was shot in the chest.’

Nicole blew out a breath. ‘Who was it?’

‘His name was Harold Turner.’

‘This isn’t good.’

Lindsay smiled, hoping to lighten Nicole’s worries. ‘It’s under control. The police are all over this case. I’m sure they’ll

figure out who did this. And I want you to know that I haven’t told anyone that you’re living here.’

Nicole relaxed a fraction, as if Lindsay had touched on a secret worry. ‘Okay.’

‘This will blow over soon enough.’

Nicole looked skeptical. ‘What can I do to help you?’

‘Nothing. Everything is fine. If I need you, I promise to unload my troubles, okay?’

‘I’m holding you to that. You’ve done so much for me.’ Nicole shifted, pressing her hand into her stomach.

‘You aren’t feeling well, are you?’

Nicole’s skin looked sallow. ‘No. I can’t seem to shake this stupid bug.’

Lindsay studied Nicole’s tight face. She knew her friend was under a terrible strain, but some topics couldn’t be avoided.

‘I’ve been tiptoeing around this subject for a couple of days. But there seems to be no getting around it now. When was your

last period?’

Nicole shook her head and held up her hands. ‘Don’t even go there. I’m not pregnant.’

Lindsay relaxed back in her chair. ‘So you’ve had a period recently?’

Slim fingers drew into fists. ‘No, but I’ve been under a lot of stress the last couple of months. Things were getting pretty bad with Richard toward the end.’

Lindsay’s concern returned threefold. ‘How long has it been since your period?’

Nicole frowned, closed her eyes as she thought. ‘Two months.’

Lindsay leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Have you ever gone this long before?’

Hope flickered in Nicole’s gaze. ‘When my mother died, I missed one.’

‘But not two or three.’

‘No.’

Lindsay blew out a frustrated breath. ‘You need to take a pregnancy test, Nicole.’

‘I don’t need a test. I’m not pregnant.’ Anger etched her delicate features. ‘Richard said he wanted to have a baby. He said

a baby would bind us together forever. But I was able to use some kind of protection almost every time.’

Lindsay rose, then squatted in front of Nicole’s chair and laid her hand on her arms. ‘I’d love to think this is just the

flu. But you’ve been sleeping a lot and you’ve been nauseous too often to ignore it any longer. I know you don’t like the

idea of carrying Richard’s child, but the possibility exists, doesn’t it?’

Defiance burned in Nicole’s blue eyes. ‘It was only just one time that he completely surprised me and I wasn’t able to take

precautions.’

‘When?’

‘May.’

The timing would be right. ‘Once is all it takes, honey.’

Nicole pressed trembling hands to her cheeks. ‘I can’t have Richard’s baby. I can’t .’

‘Hey, hey, don’t panic or borrow trouble. Just pick up a pregnancy test tonight. They have to be taken in the morning. By

this time tomorrow, you’ll know where you stand.’

Nicole’s voice was a hoarse whisper. Her gaze reflected fear. ‘Lindsay, what if I am pregnant?’

‘Honey, let’s just do the test first. Then we’ll figure out what the next step is.’

Nicole offered a weak smile, but her eyes still looked panicked. ‘You’re right. One step at a time. You’ve been saying that

since I arrived here.’

Lindsay admired Nicole’s strength. With only the clothes on her back, she had left a very powerful, very vengeful man. ‘Do

yourself a favor and get out of the house today. Go see some of the city. Put that new camera of yours to work.’ Photography

would give Nicole something positive to focus on temporarily.

A sigh shuddered through Nicole’s body. ‘I have been itching to try out the vintage Leica I found at the flea market last

week.’

‘Perfect. This apartment could use some real photographic art on the walls.’

A clock in the hallway chimed eight times. ‘Now, I’ve got to get my act together. And my car is still at the shelter, so I’ll

have to call a cab.’

‘Why is your car at the shelter?’

She shrugged. ‘Long story.’

Nicole rose, shaking her head. ‘You don’t want to tell me.’

Lindsay smiled. ‘Not right now.’

‘I get that we all have things we don’t like to talk about. Okay, I’ll drive you. Give me fifteen and I’ll be ready to go.’

Lindsay touched Nicole’s shoulder. ‘It’s going to be okay, baby or no.’ It’s going to be okay . She was trying to reassure herself as well.

Nicole straightened her shoulders. ‘I know.’

Both smiled.

But neither believed the other.

Minutes before seven, Zack arrived in the lobby of the Public Safety building. The modern building, located in the west end

of the county, housed the homicide division and sat adjacent to the police training facility.

Zack headed past the guard at Reception and, instead of taking the elevator, climbed the steps to his second-floor office.

In deference to the heat, he’d skipped the suit today and dressed in khakis and a white collared shirt. The way he figured

it, he and Warwick would be doing a lot of legwork on the Turner case.

The homicide division consisted of five small offices, one for each detective, and a conference room with a long table that

sat twenty. Fluorescent light made the industrial-blue carpet look gray and the ivory walls washed out.

His eyes itched with fatigue. Dreams of Lindsay had invaded him and kept him awake half the night.

Last night’s dreams were different from the others he’d had this past year. They weren’t a replay of the fights they’d had

during the last days they’d lived together. These dreams had been purely sexual. Until yesterday, he’d almost forgotten how good the sex could be between them. When he’d awoken,

a restless energy had been churned up. He’d gone for a long run, taken a cold shower, but neither had been enough to banish

Lindsay.

‘Damn.’ He grabbed a cup of coffee from the break room and headed to Warwick’s office.

Warwick glanced up from his desk. ‘You look like shit.’

Zack had come to recognize the tone. It meant Warwick was gunning for trouble. Normally, Zack ignored it, but today, he didn’t

have the patience. ‘I haven’t been drinking, if that’s what you’re implying.’

Warwick looked unrepentant. ‘This isn’t the time to fall apart.’

Zack hadn’t even had his first cup of coffee and already he was pissed at his partner. ‘I’m not falling apart and I’m not

going to drink again. The sooner you accept that fact the better our partnership will be.’

Warwick didn’t hide his skepticism. ‘We’ll see.’

Zack shook his head. ‘And I thought I had hang-ups. But I’m begining to believe you’ve got some real issues of your own.’

Warwick rose abruptly. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Was it your mother or father who was the drunk?’

Tension radiated from Warwick’s body. ‘Don’t try to lay your problems on me.’

‘As long as I’m sober, I don’t have a problem. But you, you could be sober as a judge and still have demons chasing you.’

He sipped his coffee, enjoying the fact that Warwick was the one at a disadvantage. ‘I’d say it was your mother who was the drinker. Or was she a drug addict?’

Warwick tightened his jaw and released it. ‘Fuck off.’

Zack shrugged.

Warwick snatched up a file from his very orderly desk. ‘I asked everyone in the division to meet us in the conference room

at seven. They should be waiting for us now.’

Zack knew he’d just opened a wound. If Warwick hadn’t been such a prick these last eight months, he’d have felt bad about

it. ‘Let’s do it.’

Warwick nodded stiffly. ‘Right.’

The two went into the conference room as Detective Vega offered Detective C.C. Ricker Danish from a bakery bag.

C.C. glowered at Vega. The redhead stood just over five feet and had a compact, lean body. In her late twenties, she had come

up through patrol, the domestic violence division, and for the last two years had worked homicide.

Catching sight of Zack and Warwick, Vega wiped his hands clean. Nick Vega was tall, had olive skin, and wore his black hair

slicked back. Born in Cuba, he’d immigrated to New York when he was six. He spoke Spanish like a native and English like a

New Yorker.

C.C. stood a little straighter. ‘So I hear you boys snagged yourself a juicy murder.’

Warwick’s frame dominated the space. ‘Lucky us.’

Vega chuckled. ‘Tread carefully. C.C.’s on another diet. Low carbs this time. And she’s mean as a snake.’

Warwick sat down. All traces of the anger toward Zack had vanished. ‘What’s the occasion and how long do we have to suffer before you can have a real meal?’

C.C. frowned. ‘My sister’s wedding.’ They’d all seen the pictures of C.C. and her three sisters. The other Ricker sisters

were tall and blond. C.C. had often joked she was a genetic throwback. ‘So how’s Sharon?’

Warwick’s smile didn’t waver but his eyes hardened a shade. ‘No more Sharon. I’m a single man again.’

C.C. didn’t hide her sadness. ‘Sorry to hear that. I liked her.’

‘No biggie,’ Warwick said.

Zack wouldn’t use any more armchair psychology to his partner again. Their exchange a few minutes ago, coupled with the fact

that he’d broken up with another good woman, told Zack all he needed to know. His partner had been raised by a drunk and it

had left its mark. No matter what he did, no matter how long he stayed sober, Zack would always be a drunk to Warwick.

Add that to the three detectives’ camaraderie and Zack wondered if he’d ever live down the days he drank.

Ayden entered the room, silencing any other banter. He had rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. Under his arm, he held

a stack of files. In his left hand, which still bore his wedding band, he gripped a mug that read ‘#1 Dad,’ a gift from one

of his sons. He tossed the files on the table.

‘Zack and Warwick. Phone records just arrived.’ He pushed the files toward them. ‘Harold and Jordan Turner’s are included

as well as O’Neil’s and the shelter’s records. There are hundreds of calls to wade through.’

Zack thumbed through the records. He remembered the feeling he’d had yesterday that Lindsay was hiding something. God only

knew what they’d find.

‘Is Sara joining us?’ Ayden said.

‘I’m here,’ Sara said, breezing into the room. Her neat ponytail suited her khakis, crisp white shirt, and polished brown

flats. ‘And please tell me no one expects DNA this morning.’

They all laughed.

‘Let me guess, your crankiness is a sign that you’re scheduled to speak at the academy today. Am I right?’ C.C. said.

‘I was there last Friday. I’ve heard it said there are no stupid questions, but sometimes I wonder,’ she said, smiling, then

opened her file. ‘Everyone under twenty-two thinks it takes the press of a button to get DNA results. The CSI craze is killing me.’

Again everyone laughed.

‘What have you found?’ Zack said. He didn’t mean to sound so abrupt.

Sara straightened. She was all business. ‘From the crime scene, I didn’t learn that much. So let me start with the body. I

spoke to the ME this morning. Harold was killed with a .45-caliber shot to the heart. We’ve got the slug but so far no matches to anything

in the ballistic databases. I can tell you that Harold was dead before he hit the ground. The bullet shattered his heart. He had no defensive wounds or any

other signs of trauma on his body. His hand was removed postmortem with the use of a very sharp object.’

‘Any theories on the instrument that was used to cut his hand off?’ Warwick said.

‘Machete or an ax. The ME and I are leaning toward a machete. The cut was narrow and did minimal tissue damage at the wrist. Bone was severed cleanly.’

She flipped a page over. ‘We won’t have the toxicology screen on him for a couple of weeks, but there were track marks on

both arms and behind both knees. This guy was a full-blown drug addict. Just the promise of drugs would be enough to get him

to go almost anywhere.’

‘Which explains why he’d have gotten into a car with his killer,’ Warwick said.

‘Exactly.’

‘And the crime scene?’ Zack said.

‘The killer was very careful and very methodical. He left no fingerprints, shell casings, or hair or fabric fibers; however,

there was a footprint. I was able to get a very good footprint impression by the back gate. The ground had been softened by

a leaking garden hose, so the soft soil created the perfect medium to make a mold.’ She glanced at her notes. ‘Men’s size

twelve running shoe. And I can tell you that his foot turned inward. My guess is that he has an excessively high arch, which

can shorten a foot up to an inch. If the print belongs to the killer he has a slight limp. Also, there was an unidentified

white powder on the heel. It’s definitely not drugs and I’m having it analyzed.’

‘That’s it?’ Ayden said. He looked frustrated.

Sara nodded. ‘As I said, the killer was careful and, unfortunately, I only had a couple of hours to collect data before the rains came and literally obliterated the evidence. We returned after the rain, but the backyard was a mess.’

‘What about the hand sent to Lindsay O’Neil?’ Zack said.

Sara nodded. ‘It’s definitely Harold’s. His prints match ones we had on file. I also checked the hand’s nails, hoping for

a partial print from the killer, but nothing. The flowers are fresh irises. They can be bought in fifty different places in

the metro area.’

‘What about the flower box?’ Ayden said.

Sara frowned. ‘The only prints on the outside and inside of the box were Lindsay’s and her assistant’s.’

C.C. nodded. ‘I worked with a couple of robbery detectives last night and we called all the florists in the city. None had

an order for the shelter address yesterday.’

‘Did anyone notice who delivered the box?’ Ayden said.

Zack shook his head. ‘The cop parked in the driveway was on the phone with his kid’s day care. He’d received a call that his

child had been badly injured. Turned out to be bogus. And Ruby Dillon had three calls come in at once to the shelter. She

was too distracted to notice the guy.’

‘You and Sara refer to the Guardian as a male, but do we know for sure that the Guardian is a man?’ Ayden said.

Zack frowned. ‘Not for sure.’

‘What about the TV news crews?’ Ayden said. ‘Think a camera might have picked up something? Shaw at Channel Ten had her cameras running all

morning.’

‘I’ll talk to Shaw,’ Warwick said.

‘Do you think the killer delivered the flowers personally?’ Zack said.

Warwick shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

No one spoke for a moment as the weight of what he’d said sank in. Did the killer return to the shelter to deliver the hand?

‘And the note that was attached to the flower box?’ Zack said. ‘What do you know about that?’

Sara glanced at her notes. Lindsay, you are not alone anymore, The Guardian. ‘I’ve sent it to a handwriting expert. At first glance, he says the Guardian likes control, as exhibited by the note’s neat

block lettering and the deep indention of the letters. He’s going to look at it more and see what he comes up with.’

‘And the paper?’ Zack said.

‘The paper is extremely common and can be found in dozens of card stores.’

Zack kept his voice neutral, trying not to hint at the fear he felt for Lindsay. ‘Lindsay’s never heard of the Guardian and

doesn’t know why he’s fixated on her.’

‘What’s her connection to Turner?’ Ayden said.

Zack recapped the facts as Lindsay had told him.

C.C. looked skeptical. ‘I saw Lindsay once in court. It was the trial of a woman accused of shooting her husband. Lindsay

testified for the defense about battered victim syndrome. She said that a perfectly sane woman who has been badly battered

can snap. On cross the Commonwealth attorney tried to get Lindsay to waver but she didn’t. Lindsay is one intense woman.’

‘Lindsay is intense.’ Zack hesitated, dreading what he needed to say next.

‘There’s something we all should know about Lindsay, isn’t there,’ Warwick said. ‘You hinted in the car yesterday that there was domestic abuse in her home when she was growing

up.’

Warwick was right. Everyone did need to know about Lindsay’s past.

Zack folded his fingers together. ‘Lindsay had a complicated childhood.’ All gazes zeroed in on him. He felt disloyal even

though the Department of Social Services had done a background check on her and knew her history. ‘She’s from Ashland, about

twenty miles north.’

‘I thought she came from California,’ C.C. said. ‘I remember talking to her about USC at some department Christmas party. She led me to believe she was from California.’

Zack nodded. ‘She did go to school out there but she’s from here.’

‘So why lead everyone to believe she’s from the West?’ Ayden said.

He drew in a deep breath. ‘Her mother was abused by her father for years, but it’s worse than that. Her mother was murdered

by her father. It was twelve years ago. Lindsay was seventeen. And her last name was Hines then.’ A hush fell over the room.

C.C. and Vega glanced at each other and Warwick sat back in his chair, his shock evident.

Ayden leaned forward. ‘Shit. I remember that case. The Hanover sheriff was a friend of mine. We talked about it a lot, because

the murder scene was so bloody. It really shook him up.’

‘Lindsay’s father beat her mother to death with a hammer,’ Zack said. ‘Lindsay found her mother.’

No one spoke for several seconds.

‘When did Lindsay change her name?’ Warwick finally asked.

‘When she turned eighteen,’ Zack said. ‘O’Neil is her mother’s maiden name.’

‘For those of us who didn’t live here then, what else can you tell us about the case?’ Vega said.

Zack longed for a cigarette. ‘I don’t know much more than that. I only know what Lindsay told me. I’d like to send a teletype

to the Hanover sheriff’s office and request the murder file. I don’t know if the details are relevant but they could be.’

Ayden nodded. ‘Do it.’

‘What happened to her after her parents died?’ Warwick asked.

‘She told me she moved to California. For a while she lived in shelters and in her car. Eventually, a social worker got involved

with her and encouraged her to get her high school diploma. This woman also helped her earn a scholarship to the University

of California.’

Vega frowned. ‘No disrespect, Zack, but the more I hear about this the more I worry about how impartial you can be. Lindsay

is your wife. Are you the guy who should be looking into this murder?’

Ayden tented his fingers. ‘Vega, we’ve already taken care of that. Warwick is taking the lead and Kier is backing him up.

But I want everyone working this case.’

Zack hid his satisfaction.

Warwick didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’d like for C.C. to start going through the phone records. Look for any patterns, connections to the shelter, any unusual calls Mrs Turner might have made.’

C.C. nodded. ‘Will do.’

‘Vega, talk to Ruby Dillon, the woman who stayed at the shelter the night of the murder. Kier talked to her but she made it

clear she doesn’t like him. She might remember something if you ask the questions.’

‘Sure,’ Vega said.

Zack wasn’t about to take a backseat to Warwick. ‘Also, C.C., once you’ve gone through the phone records, find out who sells

machetes or anything sharp enough to cut bone.’

She glanced at Warwick, and when he didn’t protest she nodded. ‘Sure.’

Warwick glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll send the teletype to Hanover now and then Zack and I will head up there.’