Incarnate Page 26

  That earned a smile from Zack. The nurse who was going through Kim’s release paperwork smiled at Zack. “Maybe you could help her get those home?” Zack couldn’t help but think there was something conspiratorial about the woman’s glance back at Kim.

  “Oh,” he said. “I, um—”

  “I’ll call a cab,” Kim said quickly. “It’s no problem.”

  “I’ll take you home. I’m happy to. In my car. My work car, which I drove here.” He was babbling—and the nurse winked at him.

  “Take the ride, honey,” she advised Kim. “Maybe he’ll let you play with the lights.” As she exited the room, she added over her shoulder, “Or maybe something else.”

  When they were finally alone, Zack and Kim both spoke at once.

  “I just want to say—”

  “You didn’t have to—”

  Neither of them laughed. “We seem to do that a lot,” Zack mused.

  “What—interrupt each other?”

  “Well, I was going to say we were on the same wavelength.” Zack smiled weakly. “But I guess that hasn’t really been true. Look, Kim, I owe you an apology. Ever since we met, you’ve been trying to convince me to give Scarlett a chance. And I never really did, not until you had to go and practically get yourself killed to make me believe you.”

  “Well, to be fair, this isn’t something you see every day. The, um, alters and everything.”

  “Thank God for that,” Zack said with feeling. “The field of forensics isn’t really equipped for it.”

  “But the other things you said . . . about me.” Kim hesitated. “The things you read in my files.”

  “I just want to reiterate again that my conduct was wholly inappropriate,” Zack said quickly. He hoped this apology didn’t sound rehearsed. “I had no right, legal or ethical, to look up that information. And I also had no right to draw any conclusions about . . . about decisions you made or, uh, consequences of the, of . . .”

  “I know it must have been hard to read that about me,” Kim said, coming to his rescue. “And I’m not mad, exactly, that you looked me up. I mean, I Google-stalked you, too, for what it’s worth. And I found some things that were pretty shocking. Like that pink tie you wore to your senior prom. I can’t imagine that night ended well for you. Probably wasted a hotel room as a result.”

  “They wouldn’t give me back my deposit, either.”

  “Well, did you see yourself?” She enjoyed seeing him smile at her. Her voice turned serious again. “Zack, just so you know, I probably would have done the same thing. I don’t think I’d be able to resist the temptation if I had access to those resources.”

  “Thanks, Kim. But I think I’m apologizing for a little more than . . . spying on you. What I’m trying to say is that I haven’t walked in your shoes. I’ve never been through what you endured. So I had no place judging how you reacted. I’d like—I’d like to ask you for another chance. I mean, if you ever feel like talking about it. Or not.”

  Kim didn’t answer for a moment, then said slowly, “I don’t know if I can tell you how much that means to me. To be treated like a . . . for want of a better word, a sane person, someone capable of making my own decisions about my life—it means the world to me. It’s why I went into psychiatry, in part—to advocate for people that the rest of the world considers crazy. To make the world see that just because someone’s mind operates a little differently from the norm, it doesn’t mean they aren’t capable of living full, rich lives.”

  “Well, you’re definitely a little different, Dr. Kimberly Patterson,” Zack blurted. “But I wouldn’t want it any different.”

  Kim grinned. “So, am I under arrest or anything?”

  “Nah. At least not for this. Although . . . I will be keeping tabs on you.”

  Kim liked where this was going. “So, does that mean you won’t be frisking me?” She sold it with a faint hint of disappointment in her voice.

  “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be within my rights.”

  “What if I grant you the right?”

  Zack peered back toward the hospital room door, which was still open. He decided to abandon their verbal foreplay in favor of getting back to business. “Holt didn’t even want to talk about the gun. He said in light of everything, he felt you were acting in self-defense.” He returned her smile. “Though, you know, you could have helped your case by screaming in fear a little more on the recording.”

  Kim laughed. “Not really my style.”

  “No, I guess not. Well, maybe next time try not breaking into a criminal’s home in the first place?” Zack offered her his hand. On the bed was a plastic bag full of the clothes she’d worn when she arrived. Someone—probably the officer who’d relieved Evelyn this morning—had brought her a Jarvis PD sweatshirt and a pair of sweats. On her feet were hospital socks.

  She took his hand and allowed him to help her up. When he reached for the bag, she shook her head. “I don’t ever want to see those again.”

  Zack understood. He lobbed the bag of clothes into the trash can.

  “Not so fast, Kim.” The day nurse was pushing a wheelchair into the room. “You know the rules. No one gets out on foot. Hey, Detective.” She winked at him.

  “Thanks for the lift,” Kim said, a little hoarsely. After a second she hugged the nurse. It kind of looked like they were both about to cry. Kim pulled away and looked down at the wheelchair. “You’re really going to make me ride in that thing?”

  “Yes, I am. Make yourself useful, Detective—go pull the car around.”

  * * *

  AFTER ZACK HAD GOTTEN Kim and all of her flowers up to her apartment, then stood around awkwardly for a few minutes while she swore she didn’t need him to run any errands or bring her anything, he beat a retreat back to the station. The receptionist looked up when he walked in and said, “Chief wants to see you ASAP.”

  Holt motioned him into his office excitedly. “Phil and I took another run over there to Sullivan’s place,” he said. “That county crew did a half-ass job. Must not have checked the baseboards. Loose one in the closet came off in Phil’s hand—and look what was behind the paneling.”

  He handed Zack a grainy photograph. At first Zack couldn’t tell what he was looking at—it seemed to be a collage of gold and red and black, against a royal blue backdrop. After a moment the various shapes came into focus.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed, “Is that—”

  “Isabel Wilcox dead on a tarp,” Holt said, tapping a stubby forefinger on the photograph. “Head’s still attached, barely, in this one, but see here.”

  He handed Zack another photo, in which there were no masses of blond hair, and all that was left—

  Zack handed the photos back. “Okay,” he said shakily. Ordinarily he was pretty good at this sort of thing, but connecting these images with the body that had washed up in the bay was a little more than he could handle on four hours’ sleep. “Sullivan took these photos?”

  “Yeah. Another thing? I took a look at that Cutlass of his. There’s blood in the trunk. Not much—he cleaned it pretty good—but I was able to get a sample. Sent it in, and the lab’s rushing it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Zack said. “Where would he have killed her? And how’d he get a full-grown woman into that trunk? She had to weigh a hundred ten, hundred twenty. He’s an old man with a limp. Doesn’t that seem unlikely to you?”

  Holt shrugged. “From what I heard, he put up quite a fight with your girl.”

  Zack instinctively responded, “She’s not my—”

  But Holt cut him off. “I don’t know how he did it. Winch, maybe? Could have done that just about anywhere, then just drove out to the bluffs and dumped her. That old boy’s obviously in better shape than he looks. We’ll get it out of him, don’t worry.” Holt squared up the photos by tapping them on his desk. “That’s two cases, all wrapped up like Christmas morning. Maybe you can finally take a weekend off and take your sister fishing like you’ve been threatening to all these year
s.”

  This was an old joke between them; Brielle would no sooner fish than she would stab herself in the eye with a rusty knife. But Holt had a point: Zack had let his work-life balance get a little, well, out of balance.

  “Or maybe I could help her finish painting my home office,” he said. “If I leave it up to her, it’ll never get done.”

  “Now you’re talkin’.” Holt leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “Listen, though, I need you to do one thing before you start filling up your dance card. I got a tip on George DeWitt.”

  “The hunter?”

  “Yep. He wasn’t hunting blacktail deer, like he told his wife. Guy called in anonymously to say he’d been with DeWitt up in Harrick County, and they were after black bear. And it ain’t bear season until late October, not to mention the fact they were on private land.”

  “You’re saying they were poaching,” Zack clarified.

  “That I am. Anyway, this guy said the owner of the land came up on ’em and they had words. Got a little heated. That night he and DeWitt were out drinking at some bar up there, and after a while, DeWitt went out for a smoke. Never came back. The caller said he didn’t say anything until now on account of they weren’t supposed to be there in the first place, but when he heard DeWitt was reported missing, well, his conscience got to him.”

  “Just not enough to offer up his name,” Zack said drily.

  “Yeah, well, you know what I always tell you about human nature,” Holt said.

  “ ‘A weak man is his own worst enemy.’ ”

  “ ’Atta boy. Anyway, he did give me the name of the bar, and I need you to run up there and see what you can find.”

  Zack suppressed a groan. “Why me? Isn’t Evelyn working this one?”

  “She was, until she sprained her ankle this morning running along the docks. She’s not up for any long drives right now.”

  “Great.” Zack started shuffling papers on the desk, trying to get them in order. “I’m guessing you want that done sooner than later.”

  “Doesn’t have to be today,” Holt said. “Get a good night’s sleep, and then head up there tomorrow, okay? Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel.”

  “Sure thing,” Zack said. “I’ll just catch up on things around here this afternoon. Been letting things pile up a little.”

  Both men stood. Holt offered Zack his hand, and when they shook, the older man held on for a moment. “Been a rough few weeks around here,” he said gruffly. “Glad to have you be my right-hand man.”

  “Thanks,” Zack said, a lump forming in his throat. “It’s my honor, sir.”

  * * *

  ZACK HAD WOLFED DOWN leftovers with Brielle and filled her in on his day, then waited impatiently until she finally left so he could call Kim without his sister eavesdropping.

  She picked up on the first ring, and Zack quickly explained about Holt finding evidence in Albert’s house that he had killed Isabel. While it wasn’t standard procedure to update non–police personnel in this kind of situation, he felt he owed it to Kim after all she’d done to close this case, and without his support for most of it.

  “I can’t tell you the specifics,” he said, “at least not now. But I can tell you that Holt’s sent the blood sample down to Anchorage for analysis, and if it bears out, it’s going to be an open-and-shut case.”

  “That’s . . . that’s wonderful news,” Kim said.

  “Listen, I’ve got to run up north tomorrow on something unrelated. Might have to stay a few nights, depending on the roads. But I was wondering, any chance you might want to have dinner later in the week?” Zack was surprised at the sudden spike of nervousness he felt—he hadn’t been anything less than confident with a woman in a long time.

  There was the briefest pause before Kim answered, “Yeah, I could probably squeeze that in.” He couldn’t see her smiling. “Especially if you’re cooking.”

  “Oh. Good. Great.” Zack cleared his throat, searching for something to say that wasn’t inane or embarrassing, and coming up empty. “Okay . . . well, I guess I’ll talk to you soon, then.”

  After an awkward good-bye, Zack hung up and rolled his eyes. He felt about the same as he had when he invited Callie Whittaker to his middle school dance. Only Callie had turned him down, so he guessed this was progress at least.

  Of course, later Callie became a minister, moved to Nevada, and adopted seven children. So maybe they hadn’t been a match made in heaven.

  As for Kim . . . Zack was way too exhausted to try to figure out whether seeing her was a smart move. What he probably needed more than anything was just a good night’s rest.

  Some things would probably look very different in the morning.

  He was pretty sure Kim wasn’t one of them.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “You can go in now,” Dr. Graver’s receptionist said, nodding crisply at Kim. Kim wondered if the chief of staff had hired the woman for her poker face, which was utterly imperturbable.

  Surely every member of the Jarvis Regional staff, from physicians to janitors to the man who restocked the vending machine, knew all about Kim’s breathtaking fall from grace. She’d certainly received a number of curious glances on the elevator ride up. She imagined that one or two of the hospital workers assumed she was admitting herself.

  As far as she knew, the board had met yesterday as scheduled. But she hadn’t received a call afterward.

  Rather than sit around wondering and waiting how they had decided her fate, she’d spent the last day and a half in a furious fit of cleaning and organizing. She’d finished unpacking her apartment, hung some photos on the walls (including her party selfie with Dave Grohl), and stocked her refrigerator and pantry (purchasing cumin to place alongside the allspice). If she lost the job at the hospital and had to start hunting for some other form of employment, at least she would have a reasonably comfortable place to come home to, and it wouldn’t be as easy to procrastinate with her job search.

  Rather than face everything head-on at once—like the tenuous nature of her relationships with her former colleagues, and Zack, and even Scarlett—she was trying to shape her own fate in a roundabout way. On a subconscious level, she had accepted that Jarvis had become her home: prior defeats, like the one in San Diego, had spurred her to make sweeping and ill-considered changes, throwing everything on a moving truck and heading home. This time, she was taking her time, letting the dust settle. She hadn’t even called her parents.

  Maybe this was a good thing. A healthy thing.

  That was the attitude she tried to keep in mind as she walked into Dr. Graver’s office.

  “Good morning, Dr. Patterson, have a seat,” Graver said with a very uncharacteristic smile. “I’d offer you some coffee, but I seem to have drunk it all.” She tutted, shaking her head. “And it’s not even nine thirty. So much for practicing moderation today.”

  Kim laughed—she couldn’t help it. Graver raised one silvery eyebrow. “Something amusing, Kim?”

  “No, it’s just—everyone’s so intimidated by you. I’m intimidated by you. I guess it’s just . . . reassuring, to see that you have flaws, too.”

  “My dear.” Graver looked at her with amusement. “I am constructed of flaws glued together by sheer Irish stubbornness. The only thing that saves me is my . . . plucky determination. A trait that I’ve noticed we have in common.”

  Kim shrugged. “Most people just call me a stubborn bitch.”

  Graver nodded. “They say the same about me. Just not to my face.” She glanced down at Kim’s medical intake chart. “How’s the head?”

  “Just a scratch. I’m actually more concerned about my job.”

  “Then I’ll get right to the point—we aren’t firing you. We want you to come back. We—or rather, I—wish to convey my regret that I came down on you so hard, especially considering that your methods, although forbidden, turned out to be a success. Of course, I wish to stress that you’re expected to follow hospital policy in the
future, and the legal department’s preparing a mountain of paperwork for you to sign to that effect.”

  “Oh,” Kim said, trying to let the news sink in. This was better than she’d dared to expect—reinstatement and acknowledgment, even if it was unofficial, that her actions had led to a positive outcome in Scarlett’s case. “Wow. That’s . . . thank you, really.”

  “So you’ll return?”

  “Are you kidding? I can start right now.” Something dawned on her. “Oh . . . uh, just wondering, is Dr. Berman okay with this?”

  “Dr. Berman made a point of enumerating all of your successes since you joined the staff,” Graver said drily. “It became truly monotonous after a while, to tell the truth. But he got the message across—he believes you to be an incredible asset to the department.”

  “Oh.” Kim felt energized with relief. “Wow, that’s great, then.”

  “Go see HR on your way out, and they’ll work out scheduling your return and so forth. But, Kim, while I’ve got you in my clutches . . . I have to say I’m quite curious as to the outcome of this whole mess in the papers. Anything you can tell me, confidentially of course, that isn’t being reported?” When Kim hesitated, she added, “My interest isn’t the least bit professional. I just want the juicy insider information so I can feel superior to everyone else around here.”

  “Oh, well, in that case,” Kim said, grinning, “we nailed that bastard, Albert Sullivan.” She explained about the “materials removed from the home” and gave Graver a spirited account of the scuffle that ended with Albert trying to kill her. She even showed her the little patch of scalp where they’d shaved a strip to accommodate her stitches, which she’d covered by parting her hair on the other side and letting it sweep over her forehead.

  “So that explains why you actually styled your hair for a change,” Graver said. “And here I thought you were trying to impress me. Looking good, Patterson. Now get lost, I’ve got interns to terrify.”