The Dead Room

40

Darby closed the door to Baxter’s apartment and stood alone in the dark hallway, feeling dizzy, wobbly on her feet. Not from the woman’s story. Baxter’s repeated victimization and humiliation by a sexual predator and possible serial killer… that story and all of its variants had been around since the dawn of time. Darby had a collection of them dating back to her early days at the crime lab, when she’d be called to the hospital to administer yet another rape kit to a female victim – always young, always vulnerable. Hearing these stories and witnessing first-hand how each of these women had been abused and assaulted had inoculated her against the myriad ways in which men inflicted pain, fear and degradation (and then later, out in the field, death). See it often enough, listen to the same stories over and over again, and a normal, healthy mind has no choice but to protect itself. Much like the person nailing boards across the windows of his home to protect the vulnerable areas from yet another unpredictable hurricane, you had to batten down the hatches or risk permanent damage.

But every castle, no matter how well fortified, always has vulnerable areas. It doesn’t matter how many hurricanes it has endured or survived, each storm is different, unique in its own way. What had penetrated Darby, had made her legs feel boneless as she walked down the steps to the front door, was the way Baxter had spoken in a lifeless – no, soulless – tone about her personal horrors. It was as if God himself had whispered her fate against her ear. Sorry, but you don’t have a choice here, you’re just going to have to accept it.

And that was exactly what had happened. Baxter couldn’t turn to the police. And her mother, the single person on the planet entrusted with the responsibility for protecting her, had told her daughter to keep her mouth shut and do her time. Jesus.

Darby opened the front door and spotted Coop pacing across the street. He was on his mobile. He saw her coming, said something to the person on the other end of the line and hung up.

He stepped out from the thinning crowds and met her in the middle of the street. In all her years of knowing him, she had never seen him this angry. Or hurt.

‘Let’s get one thing clear right here, right now,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. ‘That crack Tipsy McStagger made about me going to those hotel parties and dipping my wick, as she so eloquently put it, is bullshit – complete and utter bullshit. I swear on the life of my mother.’

Darby nodded. She didn’t speak.

‘What, you don’t believe me?’

‘Of course I believe you,’ she said. ‘I’m still just trying to process what happened.’

‘Go ahead and say it. I can see it in your eyes.’

‘Did you see a videotape in which Baxter was being raped?’

Coop gritted his teeth, his face turning a deeper shade of red.

‘Have I done things I’m not proud of?’ he said after a moment. ‘You bet. But you’re talking about something that happened more than twenty years ago. I was nineteen and standing inside a room with a bunch of guys who’d done some serious hard time. If I’d gone for that tape, I’d be rolling up to crime scenes in a goddamn wheelchair.’

‘Great group of friends you have there.’

‘Look, I’m sorry about what happened to Michelle. It’s a goddamn tragedy –’

‘No, Coop, it’s a crime.’

He held up his hands in surrender. ‘No argument there. But you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not acting, I don’t know, all broken up at the moment. A lot of people around here, myself included, have gone out of their way to help Michelle out – I’ve got a list a mile long of people who went to bat for her, called in favours and got her a legit job, a place with health benefits, and every time she blew it off and ran right back to the pole. If you like, I can take you to someone who picked up the tab for her rehab. Twice.’

‘What’s the deal between you two?’

‘There is no deal.’

‘There’s something going on. You kept trying to get me out of the apartment.’

‘I wasn’t interested in hearing her story again. At some point you’ve got to stop playing the victim card. You’ve got to make a decision to get on with your life, take responsibility and stop wallowing in all your shit.’

‘Are you speaking from personal experience?’

‘I’m done here.’ He turned around and started walking away.

She grabbed his arm. ‘I asked you to watch that man. Why didn’t you call me when he left?’

‘I tried, but all I kept getting was static.’

‘Give me your phone.’

‘What for?’

‘Just give it to me.’

‘I’ve had enough of –’

She ripped the phone from his belt clip, opened it and checked the log of outgoing calls.

Coop hadn’t called her.

‘Why are you lying to me?’

He looked away, across the street to the apartment building.

‘That cop Baxter was talking to,’ Darby said. ‘You know who he is, don’t you?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Baxter told me this guy is a ghost,’ Darby said. ‘She said you’d tell me the same thing. How do you know him?’

‘Just drop it, okay?’

‘I’m not going to drop it. If you know something – Coop, if you’re deliberately keeping something that’s interfering with this case, you need –’

‘I want to be removed from this case and your unit. I want out of CSU.’

Darby opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. She had heard Coop clearly – his words were echoing inside her head.

‘I’ll head to the station to start the paperwork,’ he said.

‘What reason are you going to put down on the transfer form?’

‘Conflict of interest.’

‘About what? Kendra Sheppard? Or do you know the names of the women we found in the basement?’

‘I don’t know their names.’

‘But you have an idea, don’t you?’

‘I don’t.’

You’re lying. She could see it in his eyes.

‘Why were you in such a rush to get inside Kevin Reynolds’s house?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Why don’t you trust me?’

‘It’s not a matter of trust,’ he said.

‘Then what is it?’

‘The paperwork will be on your desk when you get back.’

‘I’m not going to sign it.’

‘Your choice,’ he said and walked away.

Darby was still staring after him when her phone rang. She unclipped the phone from the holster and looked at the screen. Randy Scott was calling.

‘The fingerprint Coop lifted from the hollow-point round rang the cherries on the database,’ Randy said. ‘IAFIS says the print belongs to a man named Francis Sullivan from Charlestown, Massachusetts.’

‘That’s not possible. Frank Sullivan is –’

‘Dead, yes, I know. It says here he died in July of ’83.’

‘Then there’s got to be some sort of mistake.’

‘IAFIS says it’s a 92 per cent match. I don’t think there’s a mistake.’

Darby looked down the street at Coop and saw him talking to Artie Pine. ‘What about the prints from the house, have any come back?’

‘I checked. Nothing yet.’

‘I might need your help here, both you and Mark.’

‘That’s fine. We’ve almost finished processing the evidence.’

She hung up and shoved the phone into her pocket. She wanted one more run at Coop. He knew something, and she didn’t understand why –

The house exploded. Splintered wood, debris and bodies flew through the air with a terrifying force and speed. The crime scene vehicle, the Ford Explorer, blew up next, and Darby felt a pair of invisible hands pick her up off the ground and hurl her backwards through the air. She clawed at the air and then slammed against a parked car, her head slamming against a window, shattering it as she blacked out.