Chain of Evidence

“Yeah,” he answered.

“It’s not serious … What I’m in now … It’s a filler, something to take up the time, warm up the nights, give the weekends meaning.” She reached for the drink again but realized it was empty. He felt like offering her his. “You could use someone,” she encouraged.

“That’s the thing,” Dart offered. “It would be using, I think.”

“That’s okay, as long as it’s clear.”

“No. Not for me it isn’t.”

Her eyes grew sad, but she never broke their eye contact.

“Want another?” she asked. He wasn’t sure what she meant-another chance, another drink? He nodded.

She raised her hand, flexed her wrist, and pointed at the table. She never took her eyes off him. Never confirmed that the order had been received. But the drinks arrived minutes later, and Dart thought how typical this was of her. In control. In command. He started feeling angry with her; he wasn’t sure where that came from.

He touched the notepaper again, breaking eye contact.

She scooped up the names, neatly folded the piece of paper, and slipped it into her shirt pocket, impatient with him.

“It’s true about missing you,” she told him.

“I don’t want you breaking any laws.” He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said this, and then wondered why. Of course he wanted her breaking laws.

“Heaven forbid,” she mocked. “It might reflect on you.”

More salt.

She picked up her glass-it seemed a familiar movement to her-and she said, “Let’s see how far I get.”

“Yeah … okay,” Dart said, not entirely sure if she were talking about insurance records, or their relationship. As much as he felt drawn to her, torn by their breakup, he understood that his tendency was to be attracted to women who needed him to save them. His relationship with his mother had established this, and he had continued it through several relationships and into the romance with Ginny. He had repeatedly rescued her when she had been busted for her computer hacking-there were times he felt it was his only purpose in the relationship. He knew he needed to break that cycle. If he were to go back with her, no matter how tempting, he’d simply start it all again-he felt clear on this. Even so, the heartstrings tugged.

When she swallowed, her throat moved sensuously. His visceral attraction pulled at him, despite his reasoning. But his reasoning won out, and not long after, she stood and left.

So, why, he wondered, drinking alone once again, did it hurt so deeply to see her go?

CHAPTER 7

Four days later, Dart found himself standing out on the sidewalk in front of the Jennings Road headquarters alongside a restless Ted Bragg. He could hear the sound of boat traffic out on the Connecticut River. The late August air was like a cocoon, smothering every living creature that ventured outside. Dart would have preferred to have remained inside with the less than exceptional air-conditioning, but Bragg had insisted they meet out here so that he could smoke. Dart toed the sidewalk restlessly, waiting for Bragg to say something. Patrol cars came and went.

“I ran the Ice Man stats into the animation software, like I said.”

“You said a week or two, Buzz,” Dart reminded, surprised at how quickly the man was getting back to him.

“I’m motivated,” Bragg said irritably. “This software is on trial. I gotta decide whether or not to buy it, and it ain’t cheap!”

Dart felt a worming sense of worry twist his gut, and tried to hide it. He felt slightly schizophrenic, the constant din of his internal voice nagging and chattering away, reminding him of his oversight during the Ice Man investigation and the repercussions now resurfacing.

“Came up with the same results,” Bragg announced wearily, clearly disappointed.

Dart felt his words catch in his throat. The same results! He wanted to question this immediately, to cast doubt on the findings, but the burning intensity in Bragg’s eyes silenced him. “You’re saying that the Ice Man did not jump?” The Asian Strangler, he thought to himself. The man who killed Zeller’s wife. “The Ice Man was thrown from that window?” Dart’s mind was reeling. “You can prove that?” He worried that Bragg’s finding might reopen the case; and then, a moment later, what a horror that might bring Zeller. There is no secret that remains a secret forever.

He had to focus to hear what Bragg was saying-his mind was running through damage control. A dozen internal voices competing for his attention. Was he in part to blame for Stapleton’s death by not speaking up three years earlier? Was he wrong in assuming Zeller had been involved? There was no proof, he reminded himself.

Bragg said, “That’s what the software suggests, yeah. Though I gotta tell ya that it makes me question its validity. I’m not so sure about this. I mean: I run it on two cases, and two for two it comes out that the guy was tossed. You kidding me?” he questioned. “Seems more like a glitch to me. I’m gonna call the company and have a little chat. I wouldn’t get too worked up about it just yet, Ivy. Let me do a little research. Maybe there’s a glitch in the code-something like that. As you pointed out, the Ice Man investigation was an embarrassment to this entire department-hell if I’m gonna be the one reopens that one. Rankin would burn me at the stake.”

“True enough,” Dart said encouragingly, his heart beginning to beat again. But the worry burned inside him.

“Let’s you and I remember,” Bragg explained in a concerned and patronizing tone of voice, “that I checked this out on my own. My idea! So let’s leave it at that. I was fooling around is all-testing the software. There’s no paperwork on this. Just me experimenting with some new software. So unless you’re in a god-awful hurry to bring the wrath of god down on the both of us, I’d just as soon keep this under wraps for now. Early versions of software like this are always glitching. Always! Ten to one the stuff is fucked up somehow. Trust me.”

The issue was trust, Dart realized, but it had little to do with Teddy Bragg. It was about the public’s trust in Dartelli to investigate fully; it was the faith the department vested in its detectives; it was Dart’s respect for Walter Zeller-his mentor and former partner-and his refusal to bring the man down for nothing more than suspicion. “A software problem,” Dart repeated, his throat dry. He coughed.

“Exactly.” Bragg met eyes with him, silently conveying the message, Don’t question this.

Dart felt the need to spill his guts, to let someone in on it. The Ice Man was the Asian Strangler-a fact no one but Dart knew; the Asian Strangler case remained uncleared-and Walter Zeller had possessed the most personal reason for wanting the Asian Strangler dead. Three years ago that had been the end of it. But now?

“Are we clear on this?” Bragg asked.

Dart nodded, his voice too tight to answer.

“Just so we’re clear on this.” Bragg took a long pull on the cigarette, blew the smoke high into the air, and added, “I’ll send you up a copy of Doc Ray’s prelim on Stapleton. Blood toxicology shows no street drugs, no nothing that would suggest narcotics of any sort. Aside from a lot of crushed bones, the only things of interest are a couple of needle marks on the inside of the man’s left elbow.”

“A junkie?”

“No, that’s the point,” he said impatiently. “Nothing in the blood tox to suggest that. Blood donor maybe. Plasma center? Who knows? Maybe low on fluids-people have trouble this time of year, this kind of heat.”

“Blood alcohol?” Dart asked.

“Insignificant.” After a moment, Bragg asked, “What, Ivy? Why that look?”