The hugest, hugest apologies for taking forever to update this. It has been a crazy year and I haven't had much time or the headspace to write.
This case is getting more and more entangled and I hope, given the length between updates, readers can keep track of what's going on. This was originally one chapter but I decided to break it into two as it was getting too long—I hope to post the second part later this week. I plan to wrap up this case in the chapter after that and then Holly and Gail deserve a bit of fun! Before then, for those also reading Elusive, I will write that promised final chapter for that fic.
Thanks to everyone who is sticking with this story and as always I so appreciate your comments, likes and follows. Let me know what you think of this update. The writing of it has been so truncated I not really sure how it reads but hope you enjoy it.
After the bombshell about Steve's whereabouts, O'Leary clammed up.
'Just stirring the pot,' he grinned smugly, 'I don't know where Stevie boy relocated. Do you?'
O'Leary leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, legs spread wide like he owned the place. It wasn't just about asserting himself by taking up space—no this pose was aggressively masculine. If two male detectives were questioning O'Leary, Gail couldn't imagine him sitting like this.
She wished they had insisted he be cuffed. The guard at reception had given them the option but Frankie had wanted to go easy on O'Leary. 'It's not like he's a suspect,' she told Gail, 'we just want information.' But now no matter how much she and Frankie pressed, O'Leary wouldn't say any more and eventually they had to let him return to his cell.
'What's to say I didn't pluck London out of the air,' O'Leary said as he stood, moving his hand upwards as though he were indeed snatching at something with his fingers.
It startled the doughy guard, who had observed the entire interview with a gormless expression, and who now growled O'Leary's name warningly. O'Leary didn't take any notice, and remained in the doorway waiting for a reaction from Gail and Frankie. When they gave him nothing, he shrugged. 'Trouble with being a rat, you're always looking over your shoulder.'
'You still here, O'Leary,' Frankie said in a tone that suggested she was beyond bored.
O'Leary grinned in a way that was cocky and sure, like he was holding a trump card. How had they let him get the upper hand, Gail wondered.
'You know Stevie did it to protect you.' O'Leary looked directly at Gail. 'Stevie wanted out but—.' The gang boss held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
'What do you mean?' Even as she spoke Gail was saying 'stupid, stupid, stupid' in her head. Never give a suspect leverage. That was one of Elaine's maxims.
Frankie shifted beside Gail, clearly irritated—whether with her or O'Leary, Gail couldn't tell. Bit by bit they were losing control of the interview, not that Frankie was doing anything to help. Normally when questioning a suspect, she and Frankie worked together seamlessly, anticipating when to go in hard and when to ease off, taking the lead if the other reached an impasse or a suspect started to get the better of her.
It was the kind of teamwork others envied and which quite probably nobody could predict would evolve from Gail and Frankie's inauspicious beginnings, when neither had bothered to hide their resentment at having to work together because of Steve. Although to be fair, Gail was so ashamed of her brother she might have kept her head down if Frankie hadn't been such an ass.
Chloe believed the very thing that made Gail and Frankie's relationship (and she called it that, even if the two women in question never put a label on it) doomed to fail actually produced this synergy. They were similar enough to know how the other's mind worked, or so Chloe told Elaine, who had made a habit of popping in to observe Gail's interrogations.
Elaine had demurred, explaining to Chloe, in that particular way of hers that managed to sound both helpful and condescending, that it was about trust. Chloe could pick up some valuable tips from a close observation of their method, Elaine suggested, her lips curved in what Chloe supposed could pass for a smile.
The exchange had made Chloe feel like she was a rookie again. She hadn't admitted as much when she told Gail about Elaine's impromptu visits—an omission that had nothing to do with preserving her own dignity but was almost wholly about shielding Gail from the worst of her mother. When it came to Elaine and her daughter, Chloe had become oddly protective of Gail, having come to the realisation that Gail's had been a somewhat savage upbringing.
Entertainment for the masses, Gail deadpanned, positive Elaine was observing the interviews because she found her interrogation technique wanting (and when had Elaine ever not had an agenda, besides Gail could count on one hand the number of times her mother had praised her). In the next moment Chloe had launched herself at Gail, drawing her into a hug that had Gail's arms flailing until she managed to shove Chloe away. 'What the—' Gail had spluttered. 'You were brought up by wolves,' Chloe said by way of explanation, before skipping off.
'Face it Peck,' Frankie grinned, clearly enjoying Gail's discomfort, 'your mom only comes to watch me'. Her tone was suggestive enough to make Gail shudder which, from the way Frankie laughed, was clearly the reaction she'd been hoping for. Gail had started banging her head on the desk and might have done some damage, or at least left a mark given how easily her skin bruised, had Holly not by chance appeared.
'Release me from this madhouse,' Gail had entreated dramatically and Holly had smiled fondly and asked if Gail could possibly survive another hour because she needed to talk to Traci about a case. By then Frankie had disappeared, leaving Gail alone in the detective pen. Gail had pouted, knowing Holly wouldn't be able to resist kissing her, which she did.
By some law of the universe, Elaine chose that moment to walk in. She coughed loudly until they broke apart. Gail could swear she heard her mother muttering the word unprofessional. Later, Elaine took Gail aside to point out that 'you might not care about your career, however such ah,' she had broken off as if finding the right word was difficult given the delicacy of the situation, although Gail knew her hesitancy was purely for show. 'Displays,' Elaine finally said, making it sound as though the word was in some way tainted. 'Yes, your excessive displays,' she repeated in case Gail didn't get it the first time—or perhaps Elaine was just pleased with her choice of words—'could compromise Holly. Don't forget she occupies a very senior position'. The implication that her job was not of a commensurate status was not lost on Gail.
What would her mother say if she found out about that time in Holly's office when they broke the no sex rule, Gail had wondered. Her lips quirked at this thought and then widened into a grin when, quite unbidden, there flashed before her an image from that night of Holly arching beneath her, caught in that liminal state between build up and release, her cries becoming more urgent and her nails digging into Gail's back. As Gail continued to smile, quite forgetting she was in the presence of her mother, Elaine had made a clicking sound with her tongue. 'This is not a matter of amusement', she had admonished, an eyebrow raised as if daring Gail to contradict her.
That had given Gail pause. Did she bring Holly down? Without warning all the insecurities came rushing back, threatening to overwhelm, until mentally Gail held up a hand to stop them. Holly had chosen her, with all her imperfections and anxieties about things as seemingly normal as catching a cab, and her tendency to put up walls and to be prickly and to snark. In spite of all this Holly loved her. It was a mantra her therapist had made her practice over and over, and, as Elaine stared her down, Gail was grateful Leslie had insisted she develop strategies for handling her mother. A force field, Gail had quipped when Leslie first suggested it, to which the therapist replied with a smile 'if you like'.
Right now, stuck in this claustrophobic, windowless room at the prison, with O'Leary standing across from her, his gaze unwavering and his expression becoming increasingly smug, Gail was a) grateful Elaine wasn't observing from the other side of a two-way mirror, and b) wished she did have a protective force field around her. From the way O'Leary was studying her so keenly, Gail was sure her poker face was slipping but she didn't understand what he was getting at. Why had Steve believed he needed to protect her? What had that got to do with his involvement with O'Leary and his gang?
'You honestly don't know do you?' O'Leary said, 'Let's just say your brother put your welfare above his own. Ironic really. It kinda makes him the good guy.'
Gail swallowed but didn't look away from O'Leary. She could tell he thought he had her. The guard gave him a nudge but O'Leary stood his ground.
'After the kidnapping he always worried about you.'
'What do you know about that?' Gail's voice was tight.
'Stevie boy was upset he wasn't there for you. He needed someone to talk to. I'm a good listener.' O'Leary's grin was triumphant now.
'That how you kept him in line,' Gail said, understanding now. She had always suspected O'Leary's hold over Steve was greater than money. Not that Steve had ever acknowledged that, even when Gail gave him an opening. Greed and ambition, end of story, Steve said.
For the better part of her life, Gail had secretly envied the way Steve held his head high but after they busted him in the warehouse, he couldn't look her in the eye. He had cut a diminished figure then, scrambling to justify his actions so neither Gail nor Traci would turn their backs on him. Had O'Leary threatened to harm Gail, perhaps even finish what Perick had started? Is that why Steve did his bidding?
'You're smarter than your brother,' O'Leary said, his smile charming now and more than a hint of flattery in his tone.
Most days Gail didn't feel very clever. She was a highly trained police officer and yet she had stepped into in a cab driven by a serial killer. Later when she tried to figure out why she hadn't noticed anything off about him, Gail realised she had been too busy debating whether to call Nick to pay Perick much attention.
When they had made the arrest that night—the wrong guy as Gail was soon to learn—Sam had asked if she was alright and Gail had nodded quickly and said yes because how else was a Peck meant to react. It was not like she could admit the undercover operation had rattled her. But she didn't want to be alone—not that she could own up to that either.
After leaving a message for Nick to come over, Gail felt flat. Try as she might, she didn't experience any frisson of excitement. There was nothing of that delicious mix of anticipation and yearning that later the prospect of seeing Holly would invoke. That night, even as she strove to make herself feel these things (because wasn't that how relationships were meant to work), Gail couldn't quite suppress the feeling she was letting Nick back in for all the wrong reasons.
Still it didn't occur to her to check if it was Nick when she answered the door when she got back to Andy's apartment. She should have paid more attention to her mother's edict never to make assumptions—at work or anywhere else. Lapses are fatal, Elaine admonished after Gail took the fall for the guy who died in the cells. She was right of course. Mistakes could cost lives.
Had Gail looked to see who was outside, Jerry would still be alive. If she hadn't let her guard down, if she had been less preoccupied, if she'd fought harder against Perick, if she'd been smarter, Jerry would not have died. 'And what if Nick had shown up?' Leslie had once asked and Gail shook her head like this was never part of the equation because when was Nick ever there for her when she needed his support.
'You aren't so easily fooled,' O'Leary said, pulling Gail from her blame game. His voice was soft, almost intimate—the tone you might use with someone post-coitally. Probably apt given he was trying to fuck her over, Gail thought.
'And yet here you are trying to do just that.' It was the saccharine voice and Gail gave O'Leary a big, fake toothy smile. It threw him for a moment.
'That Perick is an animal,' O'Leary said, changing tack. 'He's here you know.'
Gail looked at him impassively.
'Of course you know. Some of the prisoners admire him. Freaks just like him. They get off on hearing about all those beautiful blonde women and Perick gets a kick out of reliving,' O'Leary paused and then slowly drew out the next two words, 'every detail.'
Gail didn't flinch. She wanted to. In fact all she wanted to do was run—to get as far away as possible from the windowless room and the prison and O'Leary and Perick because she knew what was coming next, and sure enough O'Leary didn't disappoint.
'Perick especially likes to talk about the one who got away, though he doesn't like it that you cut your hair. Say the word and I can—'
'You can what? Mess him up? Shut him up forever?' Gail's voice was mocking. She saw O'Leary's game now. He was cunning. Drawing her in, guessing Perick would be a trigger for her, just as he had found Steve's weak spot. The soft underbelly Pecks were supposed to keep well hidden or better still harden so no one could slip in the metaphorical knife.
Vulnerabilities can be used against you, Elaine had cautioned, drilling into Gail a deep distrust of people that would fuck up most of her adult relationships. Was that why there was a certain detachment to all her mother's relationships, even with golden boy Steve? Did it explain why Elaine didn't return from a policing conference when Gail was abducted nor when she lay in the hospital, battered and broken and certain her life was a poor exchange for Jerry's?
Gail caught herself biting her lip and looked up quickly to see if O'Leary had noticed. He was staring at her, his expression calculating, and for an instant Gail imagined he knew exactly what she was thinking.
'I can give Perick a message. Whatever you want to say and uh,' O'Leary stopped and gave her a sly wink, 'and whatever you want me to do. Just give the word. I owe you. You saved my daughter,' he paused again and lowered his voice, 'I'm sure you'd like to wipe the smile off Ross' face.'
The words were insinuating, almost wheedling. It turned Gail's stomach, but she kept her features schooled just like Elaine had taught her.
'You know what—Perick is locked away in this shithole for life. I don't even think about him.'
'Yeah,' O'Leary looked at her skeptically. 'But Perick thinks about you. He believes the two of you share a destiny.'
'Your point?'
'Perick has acolytes. Not just in here but people write to him. All Ross has to do is say the word and they'd do whatever he told them. It wouldn't be hard to track down a Peck in this city.'
'Enough,' Frankie said, her voice urgent and harsh. She motioned to the guard. 'Get this piece of shit out of here now.'
She stood up out of her chair and now advanced towards O'Leary. Frankie was much shorter than the gang boss, but her aggression caught him by surprise and he took a step back and then another before turning, his retreat hastened by the guard shoving him in the back.
Gail, who had remained seated, was caught between feeling grateful Frankie had finally intervened and annoyed that O'Leary might think she couldn't manage him. However, once he was finally gone, the effort of maintaining her composure fell away. The air in the room seemed stale and thick, and for a dizzying moment Gail had the sensation of things closing in on her, much like she had when Perick had put her first in his basement and then the trunk of his car. Her heart was racing, her chest tight and her hands tingling in that way that made them heavy and numb and useless.
Frankie was speaking but the words joined the rush of white noise in Gail's head. She wondered if this was a full-blown panic attack. Her mother would not be happy. In Elaine's book, a panic attack was a sign of weakness—to say nothing of the fact Gail was having one in a prison. Word of it would spread from inmate to inmate like wildfire. Shit, if Perick heard she had a panic attack here he'd think it was because of him and damned if she was going to feed his demented ego.
Without a word to Frankie, Gail burst out of the room and marched down the corridor, stopping at reception to retrieve her gun, where she ignored the curious stare of the prison guard, and then out into the open where the glare of the afternoon sun instantly blinded her, bringing her to an abrupt stop. Without warning Gail found herself doubled over, hands on her knees, and taking great gulps of air.
Then Frankie was kneeling beside her, a hand on Gail's forearm. 'You okay?'
'Fine,' Gail pushed Frankie away and forced herself upright. She set off toward the car, letting out a small yelp of protest when Frankie grabbed her by the elbow.
'Car's this way,' Frankie said, steering her in the opposite direction.
Once inside the car, Gail felt a little calmer. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and called Steve. As soon as she heard his voice, Gail started to speak over him until she realised it was a recorded message. She jabbed at the phone savagely.
'Not answering huh? Frankie asked.
'Gee no wonder you made detective so young, Frankie,' Gail said with sugary sarcasm.
'I'm not the enemy, Gail.'
'Since when did you start sounding like my mother?'
'Call back. Leave Steve a message,' Frankie said, ignoring Gail's barb.
Gail rolled her eyes but tried Steve's number. Once again it went to voice mail. She debated what message to leave. Should she tell him to get as far away from London as possible or was that overly dramatic?
'Uh, call me,' she said when Steve's voicemail message came to an end. It was jarring to hear her brother refer to himself as Steve Carter.
'Tell him it's urgent,' Frankie took a hand off the steering wheel and moved it in a geeing up motion.
Gail rolled her eyes again but added 'it's urgent. Um, it looks like O'Leary knows you're in London.'
As Gail disconnected Frankie gave a satisfied nod of her head. It irritated Gail. As if she needed Frankie to tell her what to do.
'What happened to you back there?' It came out savagely, which hadn't been Gail's intention, and somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear her therapist asking if she was misdirecting her anger.
'What happened to me?' Frankie did a double take but didn't take her eyes off the road.
'Kinda seemed like you checked out when O'Leary started in about Steve.'
'Really,' Frankie gave an exasperated sigh. 'Whatever is going on with O'Leary, he was fixated on you. I thought we should let that play out. Anyway, it looked like you were handling it.'
Gail didn't say anything. Had she handled it? Not if her sudden exit from the prison was anything to go by.
'Gail, no one would blame you if you took a break,' Frankie chanced a look at her. 'You've got a lot going on, what with the IA investigation and now this.'
'I'm fine,' Gail said quickly, too quickly. Really Frankie had every right to kick her off the investigation but to Gail's relief the detective didn't push it.
'O'Leary could have been bluffing.'
'And what? London was a lucky guess,' Gail said, not sounding convinced.
'Yeah, well stranger things,' Frankie offered, even though they both knew chance was an unlikely explanation. 'But I meant O'Leary might have been bluffing about Perick.'
Gail bit her lip. 'Except it's probably true. Serial killers like to relive their kills. Most of them, including Perick, regard their kills as their greatest accomplishment. For Perick, I am that elusive trophy. I represent the one time he failed so yeah he probably fantasises about making that right.'
Frankie grimaced. 'You don't buy that bullshit about you and Perick sharing a destiny.' It was said vehemently and it occurred to Gail that Frankie found this conversation, or at least the thought of what Perick had subjected her to, disturbing. 'You don't do you?'
Rather than reply, Gail looked out the car window. The houses in this neighbourhood were rundown with paint peeling from wooden boards and porches sagging on crumbling foundations. Here and there flimsy wire fences had been erected to mark out the pitiful patches that passed for front yards. Most of the yards were overgrown with knee-high weeds or rutted with tire tracks, but occasionally and miraculously a tree thrived among the neglect.
They passed a house nearly obscured by a jumble of rusted broken down cars, a sofa with its stuffing spilling out and long dead white goods arranged haphazardly. A guy in a grubby singlet and the over-muscled arms of a steroid user watched from the driveway as they passed, his expression caught somewhere between contempt and a leer.
It reminded Gail of O'Leary and for an instant she imagined the man was looking directly at her. Of course, it was illogical because from his position he would have barely seen them before the car moved on. Still there was something so utterly pitiless about his gaze and so forsaken about the neighbourhood that Gail shuddered involuntarily.
'You and Perick don't share anything,' Frankie said empathetically, mistaking the cause of the shiver.
Gail turned her gaze away from the street and back to Frankie. 'We are connected. Just as Perick's victims are forever tied to him but that shouldn't and doesn't define who we are.'
Her voice was soft. Level. Matter-of-fact. It was not like this was the first time she had faced up to this, unwanted and repugnant as the association was, or that she hadn't endlessly picked it apart with her therapist.
Gail had only ever confessed this to Lindsay, but at some level Perick served as a reminder to be better, not for herself but for all the women who were taken and for Jerry, always for Jerry. A heavy burden, Lindsay suggested and for once Gail wasn't completely honest with the therapist, shrugging instead of admitting there had to be a reason she had survived.
'Of course not,' Frankie was quick to reassure. 'I've always thought—,' Frankie hesitated and then continued in a rush, 'that you are your own person despite your family and everything that happened, you know.' She cleared her throat self-consciously.
Neither of them spoke after that and the silence stretched awkwardly. Frankie rolled her shoulders causing the car to drift over the centre line on the road. As the driver in an oncoming van sounded the horn, she hurriedly corrected the steering and then cut her eyes sideways, expecting Gail to react. When Gail pretended she hadn't noticed, Frankie slapped her hands against the steering wheel and said, 'Okay, okay I admit it, you're the better driver,' as if Gail had indeed said something to this effect.
Gail screwed up her face. By now she and Frankie should be more comfortable talking about their feelings. Would they have made a go of it, if they had been more honest with each other, Gail wondered, but then dismissed that thought. She had been far too hung up on Holly, which was something she'd never been able to hide from Frankie.
'You know one of benefits of cutting my hair was I stopped being Perick's type,' Gail said, sounding almost whimsical. 'That's not why I did it. Although my therapist would probably think otherwise.'
'That was a specific detail. How would Perick know you'd cut your hair?' Frankie asked, clearly happy to be back on the solid ground of the investigation.
'Most likely he doesn't but O'Leary knows I now have short hair and he was just trying to spook me.'
'So you don't believe Perick wants to,' Frankie paused, 'I don't know, finish what he started?' She grimaced again but at her choice of words this time.
'Perick will always fantasise about that,' Gail said.
'So,' Frankie blew out a breath, 'what if.' She stopped then.
'What if what?'
Frankie didn't speak immediately. 'I don't want to freak you out and this will probably sound fanciful,' she said finally.
'Spit it out Anderson.'
'What if O'Leary is encouraging Perick to send someone after you.'
'After that last copycat, all Perick's mail, phone calls and visitors are vetted and he is banned from using the Internet.'
'But O'Leary has access to the Internet,' Frankie said.
'Supervised,' Gail pointed out.
Yeah, I know. That's regulation. But O'Leary's calls and mail aren't regularly vetted.'
'If Perick mixes with the prison population it's under strict supervision. I doubt O'Leary has even met him.'
'So O'Leary was bullshitting?'
'Most probably. What O'Leary said about owing me for saving his daughter, he doesn't like that. He wants me to be indebted to him, not the other way around.'
'Why?'
'So he can manipulate me if he needs to. That's how he operates. Always looking for a chance. Probably figures there's no harm in trying to cultivate me as Steve's replacement.'
'Man, this has turned into a clusterfuck. Even if O'Leary was just messing with you, we need to tell Oliver you might be in danger.'
'Honestly, I don't think Perick is sending anyone after me, but if it makes you feel better, tell Oliver.'
'It does, 'Frankie said with finality.
'I'll try Steve again,' Gail pulled her cell from jacket pocket, 'I just hope he's not going to turn his life upside down for no reason.'
Truth was, it would be better if this turned out to be nothing. Gail wondered if it was too late to get Steve into witness protection. The offer had never been on the table—nobody wants to do favours for a bent officer– but surely Elaine had some influence. Would Melody be willing to accompany Steve? It was a huge ask, especially given Steve hadn't confided in her about his past. And then there was the baby. That added another layer of complication.
The call went straight to Steve's voice message again but almost immediately Gail's phone rang and she answered without checking the caller ID.
'Steve,' she said, her voice pitched somewhere between relief and desperation.
'No, it's Holly.'
'Oh, hey,' Gail said flatly.
'Is everything okay,' Holly asked.
'Dandy.'
'Gail,' Holly drew out her name. 'What's going on?'
'It's,' Gail stopped and blew out a breath. What to tell Holly? She sure as hell wasn't going to alarm her by mentioning Perick. Nor could she bring herself to voice her fears about Steve. Gail's mother would, of course, hold her responsible—and she deserved the blame because she most probably had lead O'Leary to Steve—but Holly would be empathetic and kind and Gail wasn't certain she was entitled to forgiveness. Not until she could ensure Steve was safe.
'Did everything go okay at the prison?'
'Sure, ah, um what?' Gail asked, realising she hadn't been listening. 'Is this urgent cause I'm kinda busy,' she said and then immediately regretted it. Most days it was unusual if she and Holly didn't call each other. It was mainly work-related or to make arrangements for that evening. Sometimes though it was for no other reason than to hear each other's voice.
It was a new thing for Gail. In the past she had never felt compelled to check in with anyone she dated. For the most part she didn't think about them when they weren't around. Out of sight, out of mind. That even went for Nick, whom she almost married. Really that should have been a sign that getting hitched to him was a mistake, but she was young and impetuous and thought it normal not to get too attached to people.
'Gail.' Holly sounded hurt and she had every right to be.
Gail winced. 'I'm sorry,' she said, keeping her voice low, conscious Frankie could overhear. She did sound contrite—last night and this morning Holly had pushed aside her own anxieties to calm Gail's fears about Elaine and this was how she repaid her. 'O'Leary knows Steve's in London.'
'Oh, god that's—'
'Just another chapter in the Peck shit show, and I seem to be the stage-manager,' Gail supplied, in that moment hating everything about being a Peck. At some point surely Holly would decide it was too much. Gail was damaged enough, but if you added in her family it wasn't exactly a deluxe package. Everyone comes with baggage, Gail could hear her therapist say, but what if you had a whole suite of luggage, no make that a container ship, to Holly's carry-on?
There was a pause on the line and Gail could imagine Holly's face crinkled with concern as she debated whether to tackle Gail's bitter self-recriminations or focus on Steve's wellbeing. The former won out.
'Honey,' she said slowly, her voice gentle and reassuring, as though she were trying to coax a wounded animal from its hiding place. 'This isn't your fault.'
'Yeah, it kinda is,' Gail chanced a look at Frankie but the detective had her eyes on the road. 'I need to go.'
'Have you spoken with Steve,' Holly asked. 'Oh, oh you're trying to contact him. I better get off the phone.'
'Wait,' Gail said, 'what did you want to talk about.'
'We've got dinner tonight with my parents. With everything going on I clean forgot about it.'
'Oh yeah, that's right. Can we reschedule?'
'Zach's flying back to the UK tomorrow so it's my last chance to see him but if you can't make it—.'
'I'll be there,' Gail said hurriedly, 'I'll probably come straight from work.'
'Just let me know if you can't make it.'
'Of course,' Gail said, 'but I—'
Holly didn't wait for her to finish. 'I better go. Someone's here to speak with me. See you tonight,' she said before disconnecting abruptly. No 'I love you's' or reminders to stay safe. Gail guessed she deserved that too.
'I don't know how Holly puts up with you,' Frankie said.
'What would you know, Anderson.' If Frankie wanted an argument, Gail was happy to oblige. In fact, she'd been spoiling for one ever since they left the prison but so far Frankie hadn't taken the bait. Avoidance, Gail imagined Leslie saying and even though it was true, it didn't stop her goading Frankie. 'You can't even get up the courage to ask Alannah to marry you.'
'Why didn't you tell Holly about Perick?' Frankie asked, still not taking the bait.
'Why don't you mind your own business, Anderson.'
'Don't make this about me, Gail. You know Holly will find out eventually. Better she hears it from you.'
'No offence but I'm not going to take relationship advice from you.'
'Are you worried about Holly's reaction,' Frankie ploughed on valiantly.
'Duh,' Gail said, stopping herself from doing another eye roll. 'No point in worrying her until we know this is real.'
Frankie looked sceptical but to Gail's relief—or was it disappointment because really she wanted a fight—the detective dropped the subject.
They stayed silent for rest of the ride back to 15. Gail tried to call Holly several times, ignoring Frankie's knowing smirk, but Holly didn't pick up. Finally she sent a message asking if she should get some wine for dinner.
Steve called as they were nearing the precinct.
'A lucky guess,' he said when Gail told him about the exchange with O'Leary.
'How can you be so sure? ' Gail asked, wanting nothing more than for Steve to convince her this was true.
'O'Leary's finished. Chou saw to that. Nothing is left of his gang. He wouldn't have the resources to track me down.'
'Chou would.'
'And if Chou knew where I was we wouldn't be having this conversation. In fact you'd be working on my eulogy,' Steve said. 'Anyway Chou and O'Leary detest each other. What would Chou gain by telling O'Leary where I was.'
'I bet O'Leary still has contacts. People who owe him. Maybe one of them found you.'
'Like I said, O'Leary's done. No one's interested in him anymore.'
Gail wanted to believe Steve and yet something niggled about his readiness to be so dismissive of O'Leary.
'Would you consider going away for a few days until we get to the bottom of this?' Gail asked, hating how tentative her voice sounded.
'That's not so easy to do. I've got a business to run here. And then there's Melody.'
'I can pay for both of you to stay somewhere,' Gail offered. Now it was the imploring note in her voice she detested.
'Money's not an issue,' Steve said curtly.
Great, now she had offended him. Of course it wasn't as issue—not when her parents were bankrolling him.
Steve blew out a breath. 'You're really worried about this, huh.'
Even though he couldn't see her, Gail nodded her head. The small 'yup' that followed was barely audible, breathed out rather than spoken like she dare not say it too loudly lest the fears she was keeping close tumbled out and took on concrete form.
'Okay. I'll need to tie up a few things here first but I could get away by tomorrow. That good enough for you?'
'Yeah,' Gail said, her relief palpable.
Steve rang off promising to call her with details of where he was staying. Would this force him to finally explain to Melody who he really was, Gail wondered.
'Stubborn, huh,' Frankie observed after the call ended. Clearly she'd overheard the conversation or at least deduced from Gail's responses what Steve was saying.
Gail shrugged noncommittally. She was only trying to protect Steve yet why did she get the impression he was humouring her.
The skin around Oliver's eyes was tight and his lips formed a grim line. 'I'll talk to the prison warden. If O'Leary's telling the truth, he won't be he only one who's heard Perick mouthing off. Word will have got around the prison.'
'We don't even know if it's a credible threat,' Gail argued.
'For now we treat it as though it is,' Oliver said, and when Gail looked at him dolefully, added. 'You still carrying your gun off duty?'
'Holly hates it.' Even to her own ears, Gail sounded truculent. She wasn't sure why she was objecting. Ever since Francine had dialled up the crazy, Gail had taken her service issued Glock home with her. Oliver and Frankie had insisted, especially as Gail had lost her gun collection in the blaze that destroyed her house.
Turned out the gun-safe, which Gail had paid good money for, was not as fire-resistant as the manufacturer claimed. Her mother was all for firing off a letter (no pun intended Gail thought wryly) to demand compensation but Gail was flirting with the idea of not replacing the weapons. Elaine would be horrified, but Gail imagined it would be a relief to Holly, not that Holly would ever ask her to give up her guns.
'Well?' Oliver asked, refusing to be drawn.
'Yeah,' Gail twisted her mouth. She caught herself tracing a circular pattern on her jeans where the material had become a little worn and faded around her knee. She glanced up suddenly to find Oliver regarding her with a look he had no doubt perfected on his teenage daughters. His arms were crossed and a single eyebrow was raised ever so slightly. Like he could spot the bullshit a mile away.
'What? You know how Holly feels about guns,' Gail waved her hand about airily.
'Humour me, Peckling.'
Gail blinked then. He hadn't called her Peckling since Steve was locked up. With him gone there was no need to refer to her as anything but Peck.
'Gail,' Oliver said, regret at this slip of the tongue apparent in the softening of his face.
She and Oliver hadn't ever really spoken about Steve's betrayal, a reluctance stemming as much from Oliver's instinct to spare Gail as from Gail's horror at her brother's willingness to frame Oliver. But now the pressing need to keep her brother safe won out over any awkwardness.
'What about Steve?' Gail asked, trying her hardest not to sound demanding because by anyone's reckoning she had no right to ask Oliver to protect her brother.
Oliver held out his hands apologetically. 'You warned him which is all we can do right now. Knowing where Steve lives is not a crime.' Oliver paused. 'I'm sorry,' he added gently.
Gail wished she could have ranted and raved but the thing was Oliver was right and it was clear he felt for Gail. In any case, it was not like Steve should be accorded special treatment.
Oliver leant forward in his chair. 'Are you able to tell your mother?'
Gail shook her head. 'Not right now.'
Oliver looked at her questioningly.
'Thing is I'm not sure how straight Elaine is.'
'That's a big call.'
'I haven't made it yet,' Gail said. 'But I'm not convinced she wasn't involved in Dr Hart's death.'
'Ah,' Oliver nodded, as if this piece of information was not news to him. 'Your mother spoke to Swarek and told him she visited Gemma in the hours before Dr Hart's death. Sammy sees no reason to suspect the Superintendent.'
Gail swallowed. She should be feeling relieved but instead a fresh wave of anxiety washed over her. Not only was Elaine familiar enough with the system to game it, she knew Swarek cut corners. It wasn't a stretch to imagine he may not fully investigate Elaine's claims. On the other hand, if Swarek believed Elaine was involved, surely he'd go after her.
'Is Swarek certain,' Gail ventured.
'She's in the clear. Don't let Kramer put ideas in your head. Between you and me, that woman is a piece of work. She only got where she is by climbing over other people. The Superintendent is no fool. She figured that out as soon as Kramer transferred to IA.'
'Is that why Kramer has it in for my mother?'
'Well, you know the Superintendent—she would have made her opinion plain to Madeleine Kramer. And as Kramer's boss, she's standing in the way of Kramer and her ambitions. What better way for Kramer to feather her nest than bring down the Pecks.'
'It's just I don't feel like my mother is being entirely straight with me, especially about Steve.'
'Oh darlin'.' Oliver sounded so concerned Gail had to fight not to tear up. 'Your mother came to see me right after Steve was arrested. She was broken.'
'What? Why?' Gail scrunched up her face, not understanding. At the time Elaine hadn't even bothered to contact Gail so what was she doing speaking to Oliver?
Oliver rubbed his hand across his face. 'I don't want to break a confidence but the Superintendent came to see me to,' he hesitated, 'to apologise.'
'Apologise?'
'For Steve's actions.'
'Oh,' Gail said quietly. 'I always wanted.' She stopped and bit her lip and then rushed on, 'I wanted to say something. It, it killed me, knowing Steve did that to you.'
'I know that, darlin'.'
It wasn't just the sincerity with which he said it, but the absolute certainty in Oliver's voice that made the lump form in Gail's throat. Until Holly no one except Oliver had ever appeared to have a great deal of faith in her.
At some point when Gail was still a rookie Oliver had become something of a surrogate father. It had been a gradual but definite shift but after Steve so nearly set him up, Gail was convinced there was no way Oliver could ever view her with the same affection as before. It had made her more guarded around Oliver, certain that at some point he would reject her. She should have had more faith in him and, not for the first time, Gail wondered what she had done to deserve his love.
Anyway,' Oliver said, suddenly businesslike. 'We need to figure out how to make Kramer back off. Andy said Kramer was at the morgue just now making a nuisance of herself.'
'What?' Gail was up out of her chair. At least this explained why Holly had hung up on her so abruptly. She thought Holly was pissed with her—and she had every right to be, Gail didn't deny that —but when Holly said someone was there to see her she must have meant Kramer. Gail inwardly cursed herself. She'd been so wrapped up in her own problems she hadn't tuned into what was going on with Holly.
'It's alright Gail,' Oliver reassured her. 'Andy said Dr Stewart was holding her own. She sent Kramer packing pretty smartly.'
'Has Kramer spoken to anyone from 15 about me or Holly?'
'Not that I'm aware of. Why do you ask?'
'I ran into Officer Officer on his way into the big building. He looked spooked when he saw me. And it seems he fed Kramer some bullshit story about Holly ducking out of a speeding ticket.'
'Hmm. Leave this to me. I'll look into it. Now what about you? Do you need to take some personal time?'
Gail shook her head.
'Don't need a break from the investigation?'
Gail shook her head again but this time more forcefully.
'I figured as much,' Oliver's tone was light which was why his next remark almost caught Gail off guard. 'O'Leary mentioning Perick—that would have brought stuff up for you.'
'What are you now, my shrink,' Gail deflected, making a show of rolling her eyes but playfully so Oliver wouldn't take offence.
'Will you go talk to someone,' he asked, suddenly serious.
'I've got a standing appointment.'
'So,' Oliver drew out the word.
'So I should get back to work,' Gail finished for him.
Oliver regarded her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher—pensive maybe and even a little uncertain—and it dawned on Gail that she had spoken too soon and that Oliver hadn't intended to tell her to get on with work at all.
'Promise me you'll be careful out there. This Perick thing is probably nothing but—' Oliver left the rest hanging. He had come from around his desk, and just like that Gail found herself enveloped in a hug. She couldn't tell who had initiated it but she felt a temporary calm descend and just for a moment she allowed herself to imagine none of this clusterfuck, as Frankie had so elegantly put it, was happening.
'I still get flashbacks,' Oliver said as he released her. 'And there are triggers. No points for guessing I'm not good in confined, dark spaces.'
Gail kept her face neutral.
'So if you need to talk—'
'I'm okay Ollie,' Gail said brightly, too brightly and Oliver looked at her sharply.
'Nobody would judge you for taking some time. You and Holly are dealing with a lot right now,' Oliver said, echoing Frankie's words of earlier.
'I'm fine, Oliver. Just let me do my job.'
Oliver nodded slowly but Gail could tell her assurances didn't completely wash with him.
'Hey you ready to roll, Peck?' Frankie stuck her head in the doorway of the office. She had gone to check on Dov's progress tracking down Palmer's cabin.
'Any luck on the cabin?' Oliver asked.
'No,' Frankie shook her head, 'but we're heading out to speak to Costa Ducas. Maybe he knows something.'
'Do me a favour. Look out for this petulant one,' Oliver said, jerking a thumb in Gail's direction.
'Oliver,' Gail started to protest.
'No point arguing Peck,' Frankie said, 'we all know you're Oliver's favourite.'
Oliver didn't demur and his lips twitched as though he were about to break out into a broad grin. However before that could happen, he clapped his hands and said 'Best get moving.' Maybe Oliver was good at deflection too, Gail thought.
Frankie laughed in a way that suggested that Oliver's gear switch just confirmed her theory. Gail remembered telling Andy that Oliver loved them all and he did, even Gail at her most querulous. Still, the fact that he had never held a grudge against her because of Steve was yes a relief, but eclipsing that made her love Oliver a little more.
Costa Ducas was currently living with his mother and stepfather, Lisel and Col Jennings. The house was in a leafy suburb on a rise overlooking the tract of land that had once been home to the archery club but now had been bulldozed in preparation for construction of luxury apartments. As they passed the site, the earthmoving machines lay idle and Gail made out police tape flapping in the hot wind that had whipped up since this morning. Construction had been halted since the discovery of the second body and she imagined Viscom must be furious about the hold-up.
Col answered the door. Gail guessed he was in his early seventies—at least fifteen years Lisel's senior if the photos lining the walls in the hallway were anything to go by. The couple were shown with various family groupings, including teenagers who morphed into adults with their own offspring. They looked different enough not to be all related by blood and Gail figured they were the product of Col and Liesel's previous marriages.
The photos were nothing like the stiff portraits that hung in dour formation in the Peck household. In every single image, without exception, people were smiling or laughing, the ease that comes not simply from being close but from genuine affection strikingly apparent. More striking though was the complete absence of Costa. He did not feature in a single photograph.
'Costa's not here,' Col said, following Gail's gaze to the bank of photos so for an instant she wasn't certain if he was referring to Costa's absence in the images or in real time. 'He's gone away for a few days.' Col added, the relief in his tone impossible to miss
'Do you know where?' Frankie asked.
'The woods.'
'The woods?' Frankie echoed. 'Happen to know which ones?'
Col shrugged. 'Costa knows someone with a cabin. He never told me where it was.'
'Would his mother know?'
'Maybe,' Col shrugged again. 'Costa isn't very, uh communicative.'
'Keeps to himself?' Frankie prompted.
Col nodded.
'Secretive.'
'You could say that,' Col nodded again but this time enthusiastically, as though relieved someone recognised what he was dealing with.
No love lost here, Gail realised. 'Does his friend with the cabin have a name?' she asked.
'What's with all the questions? Is Costa under investigation?' It was said without animosity. If anything, Col seemed curious.
In fact, Gail got the impression he wasn't in the least surprised to find two detectives on his doorstep asking questions about his stepson.
'We're hoping he may be able to help us with our inquiries,' she offered blandly.
'Isn't that code for under investigation.' Col tapped the side of his nose.
'What's the name of the friend with the cabin,' Frankie asked, ignoring the nose tap.
'Couldn't say. As I said, Costa is very—'
'Secretive,' Frankie finished for him. 'He ever mention a George Palmer or Detective Palmer.'
Col paused for a moment as if in thought and then shook his head
'When is Mrs Jennings due home?' Gail asked.
'She's not,' Col said and then became a little flustered, 'I mean not tonight. She's at a work conference in Edmonton until the end of the week but I can give you her number.'
'Thanks. Mind if we take a look at Costa's room.'
'I guess,' Col sounded reluctant but then in the next instant had a change of heart. 'Yes, why not.'
'You and Costa don't get along?' Gail asked casually as Col led them down the hallway to Costa's bedroom.
'That's an understatement. He idolises his dad and made it plain he never liked me. I tried at first for Liesel's sake but it was pointless. I wasn't too happy when he came back to Toronto last year and moved back in. It's hard on Liesel too. It puts a,' Col paused, 'a strain on our relationship I guess.'
'So why let him stay here?' Frankie asked.
'Costa has always been a drifter. Never holds down a job for long but Liesel doesn't want to abandon him.'
'And you?'
Col shrugged. 'If he were my son I might have been stricter, especially when he went off the rails in high school.'
'Off the rails?' Gail echoed.
'You know ran with the wrong crowd. Smoked a lot of pot and probably did other drugs too. He dropped out before graduation even though his IQ is off the charts.'
In contrast to the rest of the house, which was decorated in warm tones and had a messy, lived-in look, Costa's room was neat to the point of obsession. The coverlet on the bed was pulled so tight not a single crease was evident. Apart from a lamp and a drink coaster, there was nothing on the bedside table—not even a dust mote marred the surface.
It was so impersonal they could have been standing in a motel room but for the tall bookcase alongside a narrow desk. It took Gail a moment to realise the collection of precisely aligned books was entirely devoted to forensics. She recognised several titles from Holly's library, including a monograph Holly had authored while working in San Francisco titled 'Autopsy: moribund art or vital science?'
'Quite a hobby,' she gestured to the books.
'Macabre, if you ask me,' Col said, no longer holding back. 'But Costa got the science gene from his father.'
Holly had the science gene and she didn't exclusively read books about cutting up bodies. In fact, Gail thought Holly was quite possibly the most widely read person she had ever met. Which was probably one of the reasons she was also the smartest person Gail knew.
Col looked at Gail as if expecting another question about the books but she moved on to the desk. It held a single item that looked very much like a forensic kit. The rectangular box was green rather than red but other than that identical to Holly's kit.
'Mind if I take a look?' Gail gestured to the kit.
'Be my guest,' Col said, any scruples about protecting his stepson's privacy having long vanished. Nonetheless he raised an eyebrow when Gail pulled on protective gloves.
'Procedure,' she explained, which seemed to satisfy Col.
The contents of the box were also methodically arranged and very similar to what Holly kept in her kit. The first compartment held a pair of scissors, razor blades, nail clippers, scalpel, utility tool and box cutter. In the adjacent compartment a flashlight was tucked next to gloves, booties, a mask, hair cover, zip lock evidence bags in assorted sizes, tape measures of various lengths, swabs and distilled water. A third section contained a digital camera, tripod, mirror and large magnifying glass. In the fourth and final compartment, at the very bottom of the kit, Gail found a lethal looking saw. She held it up with two fingers and she quirked an eyebrow.
'Costa's obsessed with cutting up bodies,' Col said. His voice sounded rushed and slightly nervous, like he had suddenly realised how the detectives might read this set up—and he was right to worry, Gail thought.
'Come again,' Frankie said.
'Oh, oh not people,' Col stammered. 'Road kill. Although there was an issue when he was a teenager with a neighbour's cat. Costa swore it was already dead but the neighbours didn't believe him. They weren't too happy he'd dissected the poor thing either.'
Gail and Frankie exchanged a look. It wasn't universal but many serial killers started out, sometimes when they were still children, torturing and dismembering animals. Jeffrey Dahmer was renowned for collecting road kill.
'So Costa cuts up animals?' Frankie asked.
'When he was younger, sure.'
'Did it worry you?' Gail asked
'A lot of things worried me about Costa but I figured this was all about impressing his father. Brilliant man the Professor but he never had much time for family. His other two kids came through okay but Costa took it the hardest. He could have followed in his father's footsteps except he lacked the focus.'
'Did Professor Ducas give him the forensic kit?'
Col shook his head. 'I couldn't say. I hadn't seen it before Costa moved back. He often takes it with him when he goes to work so I assumed it had something to do with the construction job.'
'Mind if we take it with us?' Gail said as she began replacing the objects in the kit.
'I guess you can but,' Col stopped and frowned. 'Has Costa done something wrong?'
'Honestly,' Frankie turned to face him, 'we don't know for sure. But he may be hanging around with people who have.'
'Do you mean that guy from the archery club. Len Cormann.'
'You know Len?'
'Not really but when Costa was a teenager Len employed him to do some odd jobs at the club. Only thing that kept Costa out of trouble back then. Still, I always thought Len was a sleaze. He turned up here yesterday all wild eyed, wanting to see Costa but he wasn't here.'
'About what?'
'I guess because they found his brother's remains at the club. I didn't realise Len was that close to Costa to want to talk to him about it but maybe he was aware Costa was working on the building site down there.'
'How did you know the remains were Mitchell Cormann's?' Frankie asked.
'Costa told me. I guess he heard at work.'
Frankie nodded as though this made sense but she caught Gail's eye. Michael Cormann hadn't been publicly identified as the second victim, and until they notified his next of kin, there would be no official announcement. Given Len's disappearing act, that was proving difficult. So how had Len and Costa known it was Mitchell? They must be involved in his murder. Gail was convinced there was no other explanation.
As Gail followed Frankie and Col back down the hallway, a photograph caught her eye. In it Col had a fatherly arm around a woman who was curiously familiar. If her hair was longer and blonde rather than brunette she could be—
'Melody,' Gail had not meant to say the name out loud.
'You know her?' Col hurried back to stand next to Gail.
'Is she your daughter?' Gail asked, deliberately not answering Col's question.
'Goddaughter. She's in law enforcement too. Perhaps that's how you know her?'
Here in Toronto?' Frankie asked. She had also come back to look at the photograph.
'No, Vancouver.'
'She looks very like a Melody I've come across, although that Melody has blonde hair,' Gail said.
'Oh,' Col looked genuinely puzzled.
'What's your goddaughter's last name?'
'Cooper. Melody Cooper,' Col supplied.
'Is that her married name or—,' Gail started to ask but Col shot her a look, clearly suspicious.
'She isn't married. Cooper is the name she was born with. Now, if you would excuse me I am shortly due at my bridge club.' Col had his hand on the handle of the front door and now he wrenched the door open with such force it almost toppled him over.
