The Rookie Club: Dead Center Part 30

The front door banged shut. Paul had a key. It was probably somewhere in that box with the rest of the stuff he was giving back, now that he was dumping her.

She let herself into her apartment and slammed the door behind her, securing the chain before crossing to the smaller of the two bedrooms.

She locked the bedroom door, too, and dropped face-first onto the bed. She screamed into her pillow, tried to get it all out-the anger, the hurt, the fear. Then, turning on her side, she pulled the pillow into her arms and cried into it, wishing she'd never come back from Connecticut, that she'd never come out to San Francisco at all, and certainly that she'd never met that a.s.shole Paul.

When the doorbell rang, she sat up and wiped her face. No way would she let that jerk see her cry.

When she got to the door, she heard talking.

"I don't think she wants you around, man."

She peered through the peephole and saw Paul turn to stare at Kyle.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" Paul asked.

"Kyle," he said as though it answered everything.

Emily actually smiled.

Paul looked furious. "You don't know s.h.i.t, buddy. Why don't you get lost?" He knocked on the door again, and Emily jumped away from the door.

"I think you should leave her alone," Kyle repeated. "She didn't seem that thrilled to see you."

Paul spun around, walked toward Kyle. Kyle didn't back off.

"I told you to get lost," Paul said.

Kyle shook his head. "I don't think so."

Paul charged Kyle, but Kyle was ready. He stepped aside and grabbed hold of Paul's shirt, shoving him across the foyer.

Emily yanked the door open, heart pounding.

Both men turned to look at her.

"This a.s.shole-" Paul started, pressing his palms against his shirt as though to iron it with the heat of them.

"Just leave, Paul."

Paul's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You heard her, Paul."

"You b.i.t.c.h. You were cheating on me? With a handyman?"

Her stomach clenched. She opened her mouth to stop him from going, but instead she just crossed her arms and shrugged.

Furious, he turned to the door. Then he spun back, finger raised. "You owe me a cell phone, Emily."

She shrugged again. "Bill me."

With that, he was gone.

The momentary rush she felt emptied like water from a cracked vase. She'd let him go, she thought to herself. He was going anyway, another part of her said.

Just then she looked up and saw Kyle, still standing on the other side of the foyer.

He motioned to the door. "I thought maybe he was the one who-"

"He's my boyfriend." She forced a smile. "Was."

Kyle studied the floor. "Jesus, I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. It was over anyway." She hesitated, not sure what to say. "Thanks again," she added as she turned back to the apartment.

"Uh, Emily?"

She turned.

"I know it's too soon..." Kyle said, eyeing the floor. "But would you like to get a coffee sometime?"

She frowned. "It's-" She searched for the words. Too soon. It was too soon.

"It's too soon."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"s.h.i.t, I'm such an a.s.s. I'm sorry."

"No, I mean yes. A coffee would be good. But slow, you know?"

He grinned. "A slow coffee?"

She smiled back. "Yeah."

He nodded and she saw a glint in his blue eyes she hadn't noticed before. "A slow coffee, it is."

With that, she returned to her apartment, closed the door, oddly more at ease than she had felt since the attack.

Chapter 33.

Jamie stood over the bed of the latest victim and watched her chest rise and fall in a drugged sleep. Around them, hospital machines whooshed and beeped. One dripped fluids, another measured her heart rate, and a third controlled her breathing. Her right arm was covered in a bent cast, her left was heavily bandaged. Bruises covered her skin like flowers on wallpaper. Her face was the shade of a plum, her eyes barely lines in the swollen ma.s.s. G.o.dd.a.m.n.

Jamie sank into the chair, dropped her head to her hands.

Hailey had come and gone. They'd met with the victim's husband. He'd shown them a picture of his wife from his wallet.

Jamie had heard the quick intake of breath from Hailey's lips. The woman had brown wavy hair, cut in a bob, brown eyes. She was attractive, athletic-looking. There was no doubt that she and Hailey had similar features. Looking back at the woman in the bed, Jamie pictured Hailey Wyatt.

The only good that had come from this was that the captain had approved additional surveillance on Marchek. A team had already been dispatched. Undoubtedly he would behave until the surveillance was called off again. She also had no doubt that she had to catch him before then. The escalating violence had left a woman close to dead. She could not let it get to that point.

Just then, Jamie heard the door behind her open. She stood, expecting the woman's husband, and saw Bruce Daniels.

He nodded to her, walked to the bed. Shook his head. "Christ," he muttered, looking at the victim.

Jamie turned without a word and crossed to the door.

"Vail."

She looked back, hand on the k.n.o.b.

"If you need any support on this-any at all-you call me. We've got to get this guy."

She watched the gla.s.sy pa.s.sion in his eyes. He, too, saw Hailey Wyatt in the woman in the hospital bed.

She stood outside in the cold and smoked a cigarette, trying to calm herself before she got in her car to drive home. Her cell rang and she answered it with a curt voice, tired of all the s.h.i.t. "Vail."

"It's Roger. I'm down at the lab. I've got a match on the dirt from Marchek's boot."

"You matched it to the soil from my yard?"

"No."

Jamie frowned. "What then?"

"There are some similar elements, but the soil from your yard was much richer in sulfites, commonly found in potting soil. The dirt from Marchek's boot was nearly five percent clay."

"Clay?"

"It's consistent with landfill," Roger explained. "It contains more unnatural elements than other soils. I confirmed it with the ph, which is 5.2, too low for potting soil."

"Landfill," she repeated.

"Right. And where do you find landfill in San Francisco?"

"Anywhere there's dirt, I'd guess. But there isn't much of that in the city. It's mostly cement." She paused. "And I'd guess the park's dirt would be more consistent with potting soil."

"Right. Anywhere else you'd find landfill?"

Jamie thought for a moment. "Roger, if you know the answer, why don't you tell me?"

Roger laughed. "Because it's more fun for you to get it. Plus, it confirms my reasoning."

"So you've ruled out undeveloped land."

"Right. There's nothing anywhere near Marchek's place that's not developed."

"How about a renovation?" Jamie thought out loud. "If someone was taking a house down in the area, they'd hit landfill." Jamie gasped. "The crawl s.p.a.ce."

Roger chuckled. "There you go. That was my guess."

Jamie turned and paced. "s.h.i.t. That's genius. He's hiding stuff under his building." She started to hang up. "You're the best, Roger. I've got to get a car out to his place."

"Call me if you find it and I'll send out a team," Roger said.

"Will do."

"Oh, one more thing, Jamie."

"Yeah?"

"We matched the polymers on Tim's head wound."

"What was it?"

"It's the plastic used in the bases of trophies. The company is out of Ohio-Dayton Trophy Company."

"Do you know if that's where the trophies came from the night of the awards dinner?"

"It is. I left a message for Hailey Wyatt, but I thought you'd want to know, too."

She nodded. "Yeah. This is good, Roger. Thanks."

"No problem."

Jamie hung up and dialed Hailey's line. She answered on the second ring. Jamie quickly told her about the soil sample from Marchek's boots.

"Meet at his place?" Hailey said.

"I'll be there in twenty. And you heard about the trophy?"

"Yeah. We're getting together a list of who won an award that night. I'll send it over as soon as I see it."

Jamie headed for her car. Her cheeks flushed, adrenaline rushed around her brain. For the first time in longer than she wanted to consider, Jamie felt close.

Marchek had screwed up and they were going to nail him.

Please, G.o.d. Let them nail him.

She couldn't bear the thought of him on the street one more day.