To Catch a Killer Read online

  To Catch A Killer

  By

  Amelia Wilson

  Contents:

  Copyright

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright © 2017 by Amelia Wilson

  All rights reserved.

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  Also by Amelia Wilson

  Rune Hunter

  Rune Master

  Rune Sword

  To Catch A Killer

  A Chosen Fate (Vampire in Disguise Book1)

  A Dark Truth (Vampire in Disguise Book 2)

  A Final Game (Vampire in Disguise Book 3)

  A Friend in Love (Wicked Vampire Book 1)

  A Witchy Girl (Wicked Vampire Book 2)

  Preface

  Detective Anya White sat in the corridor of the hospital, with her partner’s wallet in her hands. On the other side of the double doors, numerous doctors and nurses were trying to save his life, but she knew that he was gone. She knew where the bullet was lodged.

  Susan, Rob’s wife, came rushing into view, racing down the hallway in her nightgown, her hair a mess. Her face was red and wet from the tears that she’d shed on the trip from home.

  Anya looked up at her, and when their eyes met, Susan knew. She grabbed the wall beside her for support but crumpled to her knees all the same, howling like an animal that had just been gutted. A passing nurse knelt beside her, drawn by the new widow’s pain, but Anya just looked away with, bitter thoughts in her mind.

  That’s why cops should never get involved.

  Chapter One

  Anya rubbed her neck and stared up at the ceiling over her desk. There were specks on the acoustic tiles where Rob used to fling his pencils, and holes showing where he’d gotten the combination of lead sharpness and velocity just right. She remembered her partner pulling the pencils out of the ceiling, laughing about the look on the captain’s face when he’d seen them.

  That was Rob, always goofing around. Always with a smile and a joke, a ham in search of a stage, as Captain Flanders always said. And now, thanks to some punk with a handgun down on Jefferson, he was gone.

  Evelyn Zappella, the psychologist sent by Internal Affairs, spoke quietly. “I can finish packing up his desk. Why don’t you take a break? You have the next three days off. You should go home.”

  The last thing that Anya wanted was to go to her apartment, where there would be no people to distract her from the mental image of Rob lying in a pool of blood on the pavement. There would be no noises that would block out the sound of Susan sobbing over his body in the hospital. She said none of this, though; instead, she smiled wanly and nodded.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She left the precinct and drove aimlessly for a while, the morning sun obscenely bright and cheerful in this empty morning. When the sun was high, it almost made all of the ugliness of the night before, and the day before, and - and, Jesus, had she really been awake for thirty-six hours, now? It made all of that ugliness seem so unreal, like a bad dream that she could somehow shake off of her shoulders like snowflakes.

  Eventually, she stopped driving the streets and went to Rita’s, a little greasy-spoon diner that was a favorite of cops from all over the city. She regretted her choice almost immediately and drove back out of the parking lot before any of the other officers and detectives, all of whom had known Rob, could see her. The street she was on linked up with Shoreline Drive, and she turned south, following the water. Tiny waves on the lake sparkled like scattered diamonds, glittering and bright. At the next cross street, she turned east, heading back inland.

  Come on, Anya, she thought to herself. Get it together. Rob wouldn’t want you to be acting like this.

  She sighed and, against her better judgment, drove home.

  ***

  She tried to sleep, but after only a few hours of broken slumber, she had to admit defeat. She took a shower and sat on her couch, staring at the television and numbly flipping channels with the sound turned off.

  “You’re pathetic.”

  She stiffened. She knew that voice.

  “Look at you,” he continued. “You’re acting like someone died. Well, okay, someone died, but it wasn’t you. And there’s work to do. Right?”

  Anya could feel the end of the couch dip, as if someone were sitting there. She turned stiffly, eyes wide, to look, knowing what she’d see but terrified that she would actually see him...but there he was. Rob was sitting there in the suit he’d died in, his tie pin still shattered where the bullet had bisected it en route to his heart. Her own heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know if she should be happy or terrified.

  When she spoke, her voice was little more than a squeak. “Rob?”

  He spread his hands out to the side. “In the not-flesh.” He smiled. “You look like shit.”

  Her mouth was as dry as the desert. “What - what are you doing here?”

  “I came to make sure you were still on the job.” He leaned toward her, his expression serious. “The little shit who did this to me is still out there. You need to get him.”

  She put her hands to her forehead, checking to see if she had a fever. She was delirious. She had to be. “We’re trying to identify him.”

  “Did you do a sketch?”

  She felt mildly insulted. “I’m going to go through a photo lineup when I go back to work.”

  Rob made a dismissive sound and waved his hand. She could see through it. “Please. When will that be? Two days from now, three? Your memory will degrade by then.”

  “You want me to go now?”

  “What else are you doing?”

  She wracked her brain, trying to remember the assailant’s face. Her recall was scattered, disrupted by the shock of watching her partner die, and the shock of having that partner’s ghost now sitting in her living room wasn’t helping. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them up again, this hallucination or whatever it was would be over.

  She opened her eyes. Rob smiled. “Nope. Still here.”

  “Damn it.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’.” He turned to face her, and he reached toward her hands. He stopped before he touched her. “Anya, you have to help me. I’ve got to get this guy so I can move on. I’ve only got a little while before my window closes, and I can’t go until I’ve finished all of my unfinished business.”

  She took a deep breath. I’m going crazy.

  “You’re not crazy,” he reassured her. “Not yet, anyway. Please. Will you help me?”

  Anya could not turn away from her partner, not when he was in need. She nodded. “Of course. How long do we have?”

  He looked grim. “One week.”

  “Wow… that’s not much time.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She rose. “Okay. I’ll go.”


  Rob smiled. “Thank you.”

  He faded from view.

  Chapter Two

  She drove back to the precinct and chased down Harper, the keeper of the mug book. He handed it over to her with a knowing look, halfway between pity and disapproval. She ignored him and took the book to her desk.

  Evelyn had cleared Rob’s desk out completely. The only things left were the phone and the office supplies. It seemed wrong to her, and almost unnatural. Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away.

  “Stop it,” her partner’s voice said. He had materialized mid-step as he walked toward her from the water cooler. “There’s no crying in homicide.”

  “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “What is?”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden intrusion of an unfamiliar voice. Rob chuckled at her. She looked up into the eyes of a startlingly handsome young man in shirt sleeves with, a gold detective badge clipped to his belt.

  “Uh… nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  He smiled, flashing his white, even teeth. “You know what they say. The talking isn’t the problem - it’s the fist fights and arguments that will get you into trouble.” He put out his hand. “Detective Carter Soldano.”

  She shook his hand. It was warm and rough with the calluses of a working man. “Detective Anya White.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your partner.”

  “Thank you.”

  By the water cooler, Rob’s ghost chimed in ‘helpfully’. “Me, too.”

  Carter leaned on Rob’s empty desk, his hip hitched up onto the edge. Seeing him in that position filled Anya with a flash of irrational anger. Jesus Christ, she thought. The body’s barely even cold. Show some respect.

  “Wrong-o,” her dead partner said. “My body is very, very cold. Have you been on a morgue slab? Bracing.”

  She was doing her best to ignore her personal phantom, or phantasm, or hallucination, or whatever he was. Carter saw the distracted look in her eyes, and he spoke to her kindly. “Are you sure you should be here? Captain Flanders told me you’d be out for a few days.”

  Why is Flanders talking to you about - The realization dawned on her abruptly. “They’ve already sent in a replacement. It’s you.”

  The other detective had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, yes, but just temporarily. I know it probably seems premature to you, but they need to keep the precinct staffed...the crime wave isn’t going to take a break to let us mourn.”

  Us? She curled her lips into a sneer churlishly and looked down at the mug book. “I suppose not. Where did you come from?”

  “Work wise, or personally?”

  “Both,” she shrugged.

  “My actual assignment is in Farmington, which is a damn sight quieter than the city. Personally, I was born in Mexico, but my family emigrated here when I was two years old.” He held up a hand. “Before you ask, I’m legal. We all are.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “You’re a detective. Of course you were.”

  He sounded placid and unbothered. Rob commented, “He’s got you there.”

  She wanted to tell her partner’s shade to go away, but the last thing she wanted was to convince the new guy that he’d been shackled to a maniac. She turned a page in the mug book. “Listen, it’s nice to meet you, but I need to concentrate.”

  He stood. “Oh, sorry. Sure. I’ll, uh - I’ll just talk to you another time, I guess.” With a small parting smile, he walked away.

  The ghost laughed. “Awkward!”

  A dozen faces stared up at her from the page in front of her, their faces in various expressions of anger and resignation. None of them looked familiar. She turned the page.

  She sat for an hour going through the collection of arrest photos. They were the faces of strangers, and image after image of men in the same pose, in the same room, started to run together. She groaned and pressed the heels of her hands into her dry eyes, trying to will away the headache that was starting to build behind them. Too many tears and too little sleep had taken their toll.

  “No luck?” Rob drifted over to sit on his old desk. The computer monitor was clearly visible through his torso, and the sight made her strangely queasy.

  “No.”

  “I guess it’s time for book two.”

  Anya shoved the book away in disgust. “What if the perp’ doesn’t have any priors? Then he wouldn’t be in the book. Besides, these are all old arrests.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Computer.”

  “You’re slipping, kiddo.”

  She signed onto the system and brought up the digital records, feeling foolish for going old school instead of coming to the computer immediately. She entered her parameters - adult male, 18 to 25 years old, Caucasian, six feet tall, approximately 170 pounds - and started the search. A river of faces cascaded past her as the matches were compiled.

  “Rob,” she said softly, “what if I can’t find him?”

  “Then you go to the composite artist, or you just hit the street.” He shook his head. “You know this. Where’s your head?”

  “On the morgue slab with you.”

  He smiled gently. “Anya, you’re a strong person. You’ll get through this.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then you’re a damned fool.” He looked around. “Hey, Zappella’s on the way. Keep talking to yourself. It’ll make it more interesting.”

  Right on cue, the department psychologist walked into the room. She frowned slightly when she saw Anya. “I thought you were at home.”

  The computer beeped. The compilation was complete. “I did, but I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see if I could I.D. the shooter.”

  “You mean Detective Warren’s killer.”

  Nobody called him Detective Warren. He even told civilians to call him by his first name. “Yes.”

  “Don’t you think you’re too close to this case? Let someone else work it.”

  “Someone else? Like who?”

  “Like Detective Soldano.”

  She scowled and began to scroll through the pictures. “No offense, but I don’t have the greatest confidence in him. I just met him. How do I know he’ll do the job right?”

  Zappella crossed her arms. “I guess you’ll have to take it on faith.”

  “Faith? Doc, that’s one thing I’m fresh out of.”

  Anya flicked through face after face, trying to concentrate while the department shrink stood and stared at her like some kind of stalker. It was making her irritable, and the inability to find the shooter only exacerbated her souring mood.

  “Look,” she grumped, “I need to do this, and it’s pretty hard to focus when you’re standing there gawking at me. Would you mind leaving me alone so I can work on this in peace?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do mind.” She reached over and turned off the monitor.

  “Hey!”

  “You need to go home. You’ve left a detailed description of the suspect. Your fellow detectives can pick up the case from here.”

  “But -”

  “Go home. That’s an order.”

  “You can’t fight the power,” Rob told her, reversing his earlier insistence. “You should go.”

  “Fine.” She rose, gathering up her purse and her keys. “Thanks for all your help.”

  The gratitude was completely insincere and sarcastic, but Zappella only smiled thinly. “You’re welcome. It’s why I’m here.”

  Chapter Three

  She went home like an obedient soldier, where she showered on autopilot and put on her pajamas. She warmed up a frozen dinner and sat down in front of the television again, the sound still muted. She ate her processed food and washed it down with a beer, feeling completely out of sorts. Rob was nowhere to be seen.

  Dejected, she flipped over onto her side and laid on the couch, curled up into a near-fetal position with her arms crossed ov
er her abdomen. The grief washed over her in a wave of emotion that felt like it would drown her, and she cried herself to sleep.

  ***

  A knock on the door startled her awake. The clock on the wall told her that she’d been sleeping for over ten hours, and the cramp in her neck confirmed that theory. She stalked over to the door and peered through the peephole.

  Detective Carter Soldano was standing there with a small Asian woman.