a long time, thinking how she might appear from beyond the open door. A stranger could misconstrue her love for the child.
Why? one might ask. He’s not even yours.
There would never be an easy answer, but were Elizabeth forced to offer reasons, they might sound like this: Because he needs me, because I’m the one who found his mother dead.
Yet, even that was not the whole truth.
Leaning closer, Elizabeth studied the narrow face and bruised eyes. He appeared eight more than fourteen, closer to dead than to living.
His eyes opened and filled with shadow. “Did I kill him?”
Elizabeth smoothed his hair and smiled. “No, sweetheart. You’re not a killer.”
She leaned closer, thinking he’d be relieved by the news. Behind the boy’s head, though, the monitor started beeping faster.
“Are you sure?”
“He’s alive. You did nothing wrong.” The monitor spiked. His eyes rolled white. “Gideon? Breathe, honey.”
The monitor began to scream. “Nurse!” Elizabeth yelled, but it was unnecessary. The door was already open, one nurse spilling in, a doctor on her heels.
The doctor asked, “What happened?”
“We were just talking.…”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. We just—”
“Get out.”
She stepped away from the bed.
“Now!”
The doctor bent over the boy. “Gideon. Look at me. I need you to calm down. Can you breathe? Squeeze my hand. Good boy. Look at my eyes. Watch me. Slow and easy.” The doctor breathed in, breathed out. Gideon’s fingers were twisted white, his eyes fastened on the doctor’s. Already, the monitor was slowing. “Good boy…”
“You need to go,” the nurse said.
“Can’t I just…?”
“You can’t help anyone,” the nurse said; but Elizabeth knew that was not entirely true.
Maybe she could help Adrian.
* * *
It was late afternoon when cops started rolling in from the crime scene at the church. Elizabeth was in the old Mustang when it happened, parked on a side street north of the station. It was hot outside, shadows stretching out from buildings and trees and people walking to their cars. It was a normal day for normal people. Sunset coming. Time for dinner and family, time for rest. For the cops heading to the station, it was still early. Evidence needed to be processed, reports written, plans made. Even with Adrian in custody, Dyer would want uniforms on the street and detectives flogging every thin angle. Whatever his plan, he’d want it rock solid by the earliest news cycle. That meant all hands on deck, and Elizabeth planned to use the chaos to get what she wanted.
She stayed low as the tech van rolled past and turned for secure parking behind the station. Three patrol cars followed, and then Beckett and Dyer and two different attorneys from the DA’s office. James Randolph was last: a lump in the window, a glimpse of smooth scalp and unshaven face. That’s whom she wanted, a defiant, tough old bastard who thought rules should no more than graze an otherwise honest cop. He’d actually approached her after the basement and suggested she should have ditched the bodies and never said a word about it. She’d thought he was joking at first, but his crooked face seemed serious.
A lot of woods out there, pretty lady.
A lot of deep, quiet, dark-as-hell woods.
She gave him ten minutes inside the station, then called his cell. “James, hey. It’s me.” She stared at the window near his desk, thought she saw a shadow move. “Have you had dinner yet?”
“I was about to order takeout.”
“Wong’s?”
“Am I that predictable?”
“Let me buy it for you.”
She heard his chair creak and pictured his feet going up on the desk. “It’s been a long day, Liz, and a long night, coming. How about you tell me what you want?”
“You heard about Adrian?”
“’Course.”
“I want to talk to him.”
Seven seconds ticked past. Cars moved on the street. “Crispy beef,” he said. “Don’t forget the sticks.”
* * *
They met twenty minutes later at a below-grade door set flush with the concrete wall.
“Here’s how we do this.”
He let her into the building. The hall was painted green, the floor was buffed vinyl.
“We go quick and quiet, and you keep your mouth shut. If we pass anyone in the hall, try to look humble, and remember what I said about your mouth. Any talking needs doing, I’m the one that does it.”
“I understand.”
“I’m doing this because you’re a good cop and you’re pretty, and because you’ve never cared that I’m as ugly as an old tire. None of that means I’m willing to lose my job getting you in to see this