his panic, dodging bullets, he ended up running over the husband. Killed him. Wife right there watching the whole damn thing.”
“Right,” Ray scoffed. “Poor baby, didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Jesus, these guys and their phony sob stories just slay me.”
There was a rap on the door and McKinley gestured for Luka. But then, Sanchez jerked his head up, muttering, “Got it, I’ve got it!”
Luka turned to his second in command. “Ray, can you fill them in on the tactical details? Tell them I’ll be right there.” Ray left with McKinley.
“I know how Leah Wright and Allan Broderick met up,” Sanchez said, sounding triumphant. He patted his computer. “It’s all right here. Four years ago, in Pittsburgh, she saved his life.” A newspaper clipping appeared on the whiteboard. “She literally brought him back from the dead.”
“Just in time for him to go out and kill someone else a year later?” Luka said.
“Talk about your bad karma,” Krichek added.
Luka skimmed the article. Allan Broderick, sixteen, shot in a drive-by shooting in Pittsburgh’s South Side, victim of gang-related violence, dead for over ten minutes before being resuscitated by Dr. Leah Wright. It was dated June, just a month before Leah moved from Pittsburgh to Cambria City to care for her great aunt.
“She might not have even known about Broderick going back to his gang, killing that guy,” he said. “It was almost a year later.”
“Yeah,” Krichek said, bent over his own keyboard as if in competition with Sanchez. “There’s an article about the trial that says Broderick was just getting out of the rehab hospital and his friends were throwing him a welcome home party. His lawyer said he knew nothing about the planned violence, yada yada. Guy pled down from felony homicide to vehicular manslaughter.” He looked up, first to Luka then to Sanchez. “But still, it’s a connection. She saves the guy’s frickin’ life, he gets out of jail, comes here just in time for her to ask for payback, convince him to kill her husband.”
He turned to stare at Luka. “We gotta bring her in, boss. Even if she lawyers up. Think of her kid.”
It made sense—except Luka still had doubts. Nothing logical, nothing he could express in words, just a niggling feeling deep down in his gut. But cases weren’t built on gut feelings, they were built on facts.
And right now, Leah Wright had a lot of facts to explain.
“She’s staying with that other doctor, the psychiatrist, Jessica Kern. Ray and I will fill in the ADA, head out with ERT to Broderick’s. You start prepping warrants. We’ll probably need Children and Youth involved as well.”
“Sure you don’t want me to come with?” Krichek asked, looking like a puppy dog left behind while his family went on holiday.
“Get me those warrants and you can go after the widow. But run them past me and the ADA first—we can’t risk her slipping out on a technicality.” Luka thought. “Oh, and don’t forget about the search for Cochrane—he might still be involved.”
“Yes, boss.” He slumped in his chair.
“Need anything more from me?” Sanchez asked.
“Can you get more info from that photo on Wright’s cell? Seems weird that there’s nothing else on it—she mentioned getting texts and DMs all day, it’s one of the reasons why she swapped it out for a burner.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Luka grabbed his coat and opened the door. “Call me if you find anything.”
“Be careful, boss,” Krichek called after him. “Lord only knows what a nutjob like Broderick might do when he’s cornered.”
Thirty-Nine
Leah rushed from Good Sam’s ER, dialing Jessica as she strode past friendly faces trying to stop her with their gushes of sympathy.
“Leah?” Jessica answered. “Are you done with the police already?”
“It’s Brody,” Leah said, entering the parking garage. Her heart stuttered at the memory of Ian’s final present to her. Then she steadied herself, focusing on the fact that no one was near Ruby’s truck, peering through all the windows before opening the driver’s door. “Did you know?”
“Know what? What does Brody have to do with anything? Leah, slow down, you’re not making sense.”
Leah got into the truck and locked the doors. She sat there, torn between a desire to make sense of everything and her need to get to Emily. “Brody. He attacked Officer Harper. He killed Ian. He might have followed you home, might be after Emily—” Her words tumbled over each other and she forced herself to breathe. “Is she, is Emily—”
“She’s fine. Sound asleep, exhausted. Ruby and I were