for them, however, would be simple. Liz was a solid cop. Steady. Smart. Dependable.
Until the basement …
That thought stuck in his mind as he tried to figure out what Liz was thinking when she’d told the state cops who were out to hang her that the men she’d killed weren’t men, after all, but animals. It went beyond dangerous. It was self-destructive, insane; and the absence of an easy explanation troubled him. Liz was a special kind of cop. She wasn’t a numbers guy like Dyer or a gung ho head breaker like half the assholes he’d come up with. She wasn’t in it for the thrill or the power or because, like him, she was too used up for anything better. He’d seen her soul when she thought no one was looking, and at times it was so beautiful it hurt. It was a ridiculous thought, and he knew it; but if he could ask one question and get an actual answer, it would be why she became a cop at all. She was driven and smart and could have been anything. Yet, she’d thrown the interview, and that made no sense at all.
Then, there was Adrian Wall.
Beckett thought, again, of Liz as a rookie: the way she’d mooned over Adrian, hung on his every word as if he had some special insight every other cop lacked. Her fascination had an unsettling effect, not just because it was so obvious but because half the cops on the force hoped she’d look at them the same way. Adrian’s conviction should have ended the doe-eyed infatuation. Failing that, thirteen years of incarceration should have done the job. He was a convict, and broken in a hundred different ways. Yet, Beckett had watched Liz at Nathan’s, how she slid into the car with Adrian, the way her breath caught, and how her eyes hung on Adrian’s lips when he spoke. She still felt for him, still believed.
That was a problem.
It was all a giant, fucking problem.
Frustrated, Beckett pushed the coffee cup away and signaled for the check. The waitress brought it in a slow, easy step. “Anything else, Detective?”
“Not this morning, Melody.”
She put the check facedown as the phone in Beckett’s pocket vibrated. He dug it out, squinted at the screen, then answered, “Beckett.”
“Hey, it’s James Randolph. You got a minute?”
James was another detective. Older than Beckett. Smart. A brawler. “What’s up, James?”
“You know an Ellen Bondurant?”
Beckett searched his memory and came up with a woman from six or seven years ago. “I remember her. Divorce case gone bad. Her husband violated a restraining order; smashed up the house, I think. What about her?”
“She’s holding on line two.”
“That was seven years ago. Can’t you handle it?”
“What can I tell you, Beckett? She’s upset. She wants you.”
“All right, fine.” Beckett stretched an arm across the back of the booth. “Patch her through.”
“Hang on.”
The line crackled with static, then clicked twice. When Ellen Bondurant came on the line, she was calmer than Beckett had expected.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Detective, but I remember how nice you were to me.”
“It’s okay, Ms. Bondurant. What can I do for you?”
She laughed and sounded forlorn. “All I wanted was to take a walk.”
* * *
When Beckett hit the drive below the church, he had Detective Randolph back on the phone. “I’m not sure yet.” The car stuttered over washboard ruts, the church high above. “Just get everything on standby. Some uniforms, crime scene, the medical examiner. This may be a false alarm, but it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Is it the same?”
“I don’t know, yet.”
“Should I tell Dyer?”
Beckett considered the question. Dyer was a good administrator, but not the best cop in the world. He took things personally and tended to delay even if hesitation was dangerous. Then there was the location, the fact Adrian was fresh out of prison, and the chance it could actually be the same. In Beckett’s heart he thought Dyer had never fully recovered from his partner’s being a killer. Questions had rattled around the department for years.
How did Dyer miss it?
What kind of cop could he possibly be?
“Listen, James. Francis could get a little twitchy on this one. Let’s make sure what we’re dealing with first. Just sit tight until I call you back.”
“Don’t leave me hanging.”
Thirteen years had passed since Adrian killed Julia Strange in the same church, but Randolph felt it, too: the dark charge. This could change everything. Lives. The city.