Shield of Justice Read online

  “I doubt it,” Catherine answered with certainty, “but it would help if you could tell me the circumstances of the situation.”

  “Around six p.m. tonight, a twenty-year-old woman was savagely beaten and sexually assaulted. That makes a total of three similar sexual attacks in that area of the park in the last eleven months. This one and the last one were only six weeks apart. This rape victim is in a coma, Dr. Rawlings. She’s one of the lucky ones. The other victims are dead.” Rebecca was unable to keep the anger from her voice.

  She and her partner had been working the cases since the beginning, but they hadn’t connected the first two assaults because of the long time interval between them. With the third attack, the pattern had become clear, and they realized that they were dealing with a serial rapist. Now, three victims too late, they had almost nothing to go on and no witnesses. She blew out a breath. She couldn’t make up for the lost time, but she refused to lose any more.

  “There were signs of a significant struggle, but the victim didn’t look like she had a chance to fight back at all. Your patient was found wandering around not far from the scene just before 7:00 p.m., disoriented and clearly having been involved in an altercation. We need a break—and your patient may be that break.”

  “And she can’t tell you what happened?”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  “Surely you’ve had the psychiatrist on call see her?”

  Rebecca nodded and consulted her notes. “A Dr. Phillip Waters.”

  “I know Phil,” Catherine remarked. “What did he say?”

  “That it might be traumatic amnesia—shock induced by whatever she may have seen.” Rebecca tried not to sound skeptical, but it wouldn’t be the first time that she’d been stonewalled in an investigation by cautious health care personnel who didn’t want to commit to a diagnosis.

  Catherine nodded in agreement. “Very possibly. What about head trauma? You said that she’d been beaten.” Her voice was steady, but she shuddered inwardly at the thought of the young woman she knew being violated that way.

  “A CT scan was normal,” Rebecca said, again consulting her notes. “Preliminary examination showed evidence of concussion and a…uh…nondisplaced fracture of the left orbit.”

  “That’s a significant injury, Detective,” Catherine said quietly. “It makes the possibility of traumatic amnesia even more likely.”

  “Is Janet Ryan a stable person?”

  “What do you mean?” Catherine asked.

  Rebecca was too tired to hide her annoyance. Why did these people insist on answering every question with another one? “I mean, Doctor, is Janet Ryan likely to fake this amnesia thing—for attention, or a thrill, or to fuck with the police? Until I know, my hands are tied.” At Catherine’s questioning look, she continued sharply, “If Janet Ryan is mentally impaired, any statement she makes will likely be inadmissible in court. At the moment, I’m more interested in an arrest, but I’ll need her to testify when the time comes. I can’t question her under less than optimal circumstances.”

  Catherine regarded Rebecca silently for a moment. She would have been irritated by her seemingly callous suspicions of Janet’s condition, when Janet was clearly a victim herself, if she hadn’t recognized the detective’s frustration and fatigue. Everything about her, from the barely contained tension in her body to the rage simmering in her voice, made it obvious that this case affected her strongly.

  “I have known Janet Ryan for several years,” Catherine answered firmly. “She is a very reliable, responsible woman, and I would be very surprised if she didn’t do everything in her power to assist you—when she’s able.”

  Rebecca started to point out that people were capable of all types of subterfuge, given the right motivation, but she was interrupted by the sound of her pager. Grimacing at the intrusion, she flicked it off with her thumb and pointed to the phone. “May I?”

  “Of course,” Catherine replied, watching the detective, who had leaned one hip against the edge of the desk as she dialed. As she was facing the windows, her profile was to Catherine. If she was aware of any scrutiny, she didn’t show it. Her eyes were fixed on the streets below, her expression distant, and Catherine doubted that she actually saw the life passing outside. She seemed impervious to distractions. Catherine wondered what price that kind of focus and control exacted, especially when the case was as high profile and emotionally charged as this one.

  “Frye here,” Rebecca said as the dispatcher picked up. She raised an eyebrow as she listened. “When?…Yes, I’m there now…All right, fifteen minutes.” She replaced the receiver and turned to Catherine. “Janet Ryan is asking for you.”

  Catherine rose quickly. “I’ll go right now.”

  Rebecca reached the door first, pulling it open. “I’ll drive you.”

  Catherine understood that this was not a request and lengthened her stride to match that of the taller woman beside her. It was clear that Rebecca Frye was not used to giving up until she got what she wanted, and, unfortunately, she wanted something that Catherine knew she might not be able to give her. For some reason, that thought bothered her.

  Chapter Three

  Detective Jeffrey Cruz found Rebecca in the visitor waiting area on the fifth floor of University Central, feeding nickels into the coffee machine. He thumped her lightly on the shoulder as he stepped up beside her.

  “Hey, Reb. How’s it hanging?”

  She looked at her partner, noting the sallow color of his normally light brown skin, and shrugged tiredly. “Better than yours, probably. You get anything from the crime scene techs?”

  He grimaced as he, too, pushed coins into the slot. “Not yet. Flanagan and her crew are still out there. It started to drizzle about thirty minutes ago, and they’re running around like maniacs stringing tarps up between the trees, trying to preserve the scene.”

  “Fuck,” Rebecca swore, cradling her cup and leaning against the dispenser. “Just what we need. Did they at least get the castings of the footprints done?”

  “Some of them,” Cruz replied, “but it’s a real mess. The jogging path is right there, and even though the spot where he took her down is isolated, there’s still a lot of foot traffic. And then there’s the whole area where the witness was found. It’s a big section to cover. They’re going to lose a lot of trace evidence in the rain.”

  “Yeah.” Rebecca sighed in disgust. “At least it’s Flanagan. She’ll have them straining the mud if it comes to that. If there’s something there, she’ll find it.”

  She walked to the row of plastic chairs and sat down with another sigh, this one of fatigue. She’d only caught a few hours of sleep the night before and would likely have even fewer tonight. “Anything from the lab yet on the physical evidence from the rape victim?”

  “Not much we don’t already know. Preliminary analysis points to the same perp. He’s a secretor—blood type, A-positive. I tried to goose the lab guys for more, but they’re complaining about being swamped with stuff from that apartment fire. They say it looks like it might be arson. The earliest they’ll have the semen analysis will be sometime tomorrow morning. Emergency room docs confirm she was sodomized, though, just like with the first two.”

  Rebecca took a deep swallow of her coffee, wincing at the cardboard aftertaste. “Yeah, well, the rest of it fits our guy’s pattern, too. A jogger again. Same time of day—early evening, not yet dark. The location’s no help, though; there’re miles of park along the river. Nothing stands out about this particular place.”

  Jeff slumped into the hard seat beside her, shaking his head. “Something’s funny, Reb. The park is always crowded—kids on bikes, runners, not to mention cops—and nobody sees nothing. Nobody notices anyone just hanging around or in a hurry to get somewhere. He just comes and goes without a trace.” He laughed sourly at his own joke.

  Rebecca shook her head, as frustrated as her partner. “There’s a lot of brush along those trails, Jeff. Once he grabs someone, he can just pull her off into the scrub. Then they’re invisible. Christ, we didn’t even find the first body for three days.”

  She had been to her captain twice in the last few weeks, pleading for extra patrols to stake out the dense parkland bordering River Drive, a six-mile stretch of twisting highway along the river that bisected the city. His answer had been the same each time—yes, this was a nasty crime; yes, he cared about catching the son of a bitch; and, no, he couldn’t spare the people to beef up surveillance. They had to do the best they could with what they had, and Rebecca was haunted by the knowledge that it wasn’t enough.

  “Well, he’s still got to get in and out,” Jeff observed. “He probably parks somewhere and goes in on foot or maybe on a bicycle. Someone has to have seen him. With this warm weather, there’s even more people around.”

  “Maybe somebody did see something—maybe it was Janet Ryan.”

  He sighed deeply, leaned his head back against the rim of the plastic seat, and closed his eyes. “Maybe.”

  “There’s something we’re missing, Jeff, I agree with you,” Rebecca mused aloud, not even sure if Jeff was awake. “Serial criminals—rapists, murderers—they follow a pattern. At least a pattern that makes sense to them. We just have to find it.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jeff answered, his eyes still closed. “But whatever it is, it isn’t simple. Different days of the week, no set time interval, no physical resemblance between the victims, and nothing symbolic left behind.”

  “We should cross-check the victim profiles again. Resubmit the data to VICAP at the FBI, too,” Rebecca said, knowing it had to be done but secretly doubting it would help. The crimes had a random feel to them. “We have three now; maybe we’ll turn up an association we missed the first time. Maybe they all go to the same health club, or the same grocery store, or the same friggin’ dry cleaners. Maybe he knows them. Maybe he stalks them.”

  “Maybe,” Jeff murmured again, envisioning the next few days. More canvassing, more interviews, re-interviews, more computer spreadsheets. Wonderful. He sat up and checked his watch—almost the witching hour. Jesus, I’m tired. “Did you get anything out of the shrink?”

  “Still waiting. She’s in there with the witness now.”

  Jeff stood and walked to the double doors marked Hospital Personnel Only and craned his neck to see through the small windows. “That her by the first bed?”

  Rebecca followed him and glanced inside. The psychiatrist was leaning down, holding the hand of the woman in the bed nearest to the doors. “Yes.”

  “Nice,” Cruz remarked absently. “Who’s the other one—blond, early twenties, good body?”

  “The roommate, I think. I haven’t had a chance to talk with her yet.” Rebecca didn’t add that she hadn’t had the heart to question the young woman who had arrived to see Janet Ryan. She had been clearly distraught and probably didn’t know anything anyway. There’d be time enough to talk to her once she’d had a chance to see her girlfriend.

  Jeff looked at his watch again and groaned. “Shit. Shelley’s gonna have my balls if I don’t get home before dawn again tonight.”

  They’d officially been off duty six hours ago, even though neither of them watched the clock when they were working a fresh scene. Still, he knew if he waited for his partner to call it a night, he’d never get to bed. She didn’t seem to notice how late they worked, and she never seemed to have anywhere else to be except at work. If he kept her kind of hours, his wife would kick his ass.

  Rebecca stretched, trying to ignore how tired she was. “Why don’t you go ahead? I want to see what the shrink gets, but there’s no sense in us both sitting around. You can write up what we’ve got so far in the morning…deal?”

  Jeff grinned happily, all vestiges of fatigue gone. He wished for the thousandth time that he was as tall as his good-looking partner. He never let on that it bothered him that she was an inch or two taller, and he couldn’t help noticing the admiring glances she got, from men and women. She never seemed to notice, though. Oh, well, his wife thought his body was spectacular, so what the hell. He thumped her affectionately on the arm again and sprinted for the elevator before something else turned up to delay them. “I got the best part of this deal,” he added over his shoulder.

  Rebecca didn’t doubt it. There was no one waiting for her at home, and there hadn’t been for a long time. She had forgotten what it felt like to open her door to anything other than the cold welcome of her empty apartment, and she didn’t want to remember now. She sat back down, closed her eyes on the thought, and adjusted her long frame into a more comfortable position for the inevitable wait. She fell asleep with the image of Janet Ryan’s battered face in her mind.

  Chapter Four

  Catherine wearily pushed open the doors of the intensive care unit and stepped out into the quiet corridor. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness after the bright lights inside, and when she could see again, she noted Rebecca Frye asleep on a visitor chair.

  Even in repose, the detective didn’t appear relaxed. Her right hand twitched slightly as it rested against her thigh. Her jacket lay abandoned on the chair beside her. The silk shirt she wore was stretched tight by the slash of a leather weapon harness encircling her shoulders, the muscles of her arms and the swell of firm breasts clearly outlined by the tautly drawn fabric. Catherine’s pulse quickened as her eyes wandered from Rebecca’s chiseled face down the sensuous planes of her body. She smiled slightly at the unbidden physical response, wondering yet again at the body’s remarkable will of its own. She didn’t need to remind herself why they were both there; she simply ignored the pull of her autonomic nervous system.

  “Detective,” she called gently as she approached.

  Rebecca sat up immediately, rubbing her face briskly with both hands, and looked up at the psychiatrist, who somehow managed to look fresh despite the hour. Rebecca grinned a little sheepishly, taken off guard by the welcoming softness in Catherine’s eyes. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Catherine said with a smile. “I seem to keep waking you up.”

  “No problem. I tend to fall asleep wherever I can.”

  Catherine laughed. “I know what you mean. When I was a resident, we had a saying, ‘See a chair, sit in it; see a bed, lie in it; see food, eat it.’ And we did exactly that.”

  Rebecca stood, stretching to her full six feet. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I know it’s late, but I have to talk with you. It won’t take too long, but if there’s someone you need to call…”

  “No, there isn’t,” Catherine replied without hesitation. She looked at her watch and was surprised to see that it was now officially tomorrow. “But I have no intention of saying one more word to you unless I’m fed first. I missed dinner, and it feels like my last meal was a week ago. Can you wait that long?”

  Rebecca regarded the elegant woman before her, sensing the smile in her voice, and felt suddenly energized. She reached for her jacket and slung it over one shoulder.

  “Why not? I’m on my own time now, anyhow.”

  “Excellent,” Catherine responded, surprised at how much the prospect of dinner with the handsome detective pleased her. She was also surprised at the sudden warmth in the other woman’s eyes that made her heart race. Again. She was rarely this susceptible to appearances, and yet there was something more than just good looks about this woman that attracted her. Perhaps it was the intensity with which the tall, blond detective seemed to do everything, even stride down the hall.

  “There’s a diner up the street,” Rebecca offered as they walked toward the elevators.

  “Arnie’s? Not at this hour. My digestive system would never survive,” Catherine exclaimed in mock horror. She hesitated for a moment and then said lightly, “My apartment isn’t far. Could we finish up there? It will just take me a minute to fix something.”

  Rebecca was momentarily taken aback by the offer. Then to her surprise she realized that she would like nothing better than to have a late dinner with Catherine Rawlings. Hoping that she sounded casual, she replied, “Sounds fine. Don’t think I could take one more burger anyhow.”

  *

  The address to which Catherine directed her was in a gentrified section of the city bordering the university area, replete with the requisite coffee bars, small sidewalk cafés, and huge rents. It matched the image Rebecca was forming of this woman—refined but in no way staid.

  “I’ll just be a minute. I’ve been in these clothes all day,” Catherine said as she let them in and tossed her briefcase on a small telephone table just inside the door. “The living room’s to your right, and the kitchen is in the back. Help yourself to a drink if you like.”

  Catherine’s large first-floor apartment was in a recently renovated brownstone, and the small but well-appointed kitchen opened onto a private rear garden. Rebecca couldn’t see much of the patio through the sliding glass kitchen doors, but the high-ceilinged rooms she had glimpsed through partially open interior doors were tastefully decorated in soothing earth tones and elegant but functional furnishings. She decided she liked the doctor’s style, although it would be hard not to appreciate the understated but obviously expensive surroundings. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and Rebecca finally began to unwind.

  She wandered into the spacious living room and perused the titles—mostly recent novels and biographies—on the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that lined one wall, noting several she had been meaning to read but kept putting off. Something usually came up at the station that devoured any available spare time. She was reminding herself this was not a social engagement and that she still had work to do when the doctor came through the archway from the kitchen.

  “Glass of wine?” Catherine had changed into a loose white cotton blouse over black brushed-silk trousers and carried a bottle in one hand.

  “Just seltzer and lime, if you have it,” Rebecca replied, suddenly aware of Catherine as more than just a subject in her case log. She was truly a beautiful woman. Her angular features and prominent cheekbones were softened by flawless skin, framed by wavy, richly highlighted auburn hair, and appeared very nearly perfect. Her wide set, gray-green eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her generous mouth bestowed a human quality that was far more appealing than any artist’s classic rendition. Rebecca found herself really appreciating another woman for the first time in months. She didn’t realize she was staring until Catherine’s full lips parted in a soft, playful smile, breaking her reverie.