“Didn’t you go to the department shrink?”
“Yeah, they required it. I went and didn’t tell the poor woman anything. I was too tough to even admit to myself how scarring it was to take a life.”
“You’re talking about it now,” Keren said.
“Yeah, I am.” Paul leaned toward her slightly, just to see if she’d stay put or move away. “I like talking to you, Detective Collins.”
“I like talking to you, too, Pastor P.” She didn’t move much, but a little, and definitely in the right direction.
Before Paul could close the last few inches, a nurse came out of the IC unit. “I can let one of you go in for five minutes this half hour and the other go in next half hour. You can do that all night if you want to. Like I told the other lady who was here, don’t ask her questions about the attack. Even in the coma it could be upsetting to her, but go ahead and talk to her. It definitely helps our patients to hear a familiar voice.”
Keren never took her turn—since Paul’s was the only familiar voice—but she stayed. He never suggested she go home. She might not be safe at home. She never suggested abandoning him. Instead, she stretched out on a hard vinyl sofa and slept.
Keren woke in the first light of dawn as Paul came back from sitting with LaToya. His hair was curling and messy. His clothes looked slept in. He had dark circles under his eyes and he was cradling his arm to his chest, reminding Keren that a building had fallen on him just recently.
“How is she?” Keren sat up on the vinyl couch, aching in every joint from the car wreck and the uncomfortable bed.
“No change. Still in a deep coma. But the nurse said her vitals are strong. They’re really hopeful she’ll wake up and be okay.” Paul’s smile was weak, but it was there.
Keren ran her hands into her hair and realized her barrette was gone. She looked around.
“This what you’re after?” Paul dangled it from two fingers. “It fell out in the night.”
“My barrette never falls out. That’s why I love it.” She stood, suppressed a groan of pain, and snatched it away from him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How’d you get it?”
“You really don’t like your hair?”
“Of course not.”
“Because it’s about the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.” Paul’s eyes flashed as he studied her corkscrew curls, made more awful by a terrible night’s sleep.
“You have really bad taste.” She began finger-combing her hair into a ponytail. “You probably get all bothered by clown wigs on Halloween.”
Paul laughed. It was a great sound.
Higgins came striding into the waiting room. “Is she awake yet?”
“No, sorry.” Keren looked at Higgins, immaculate as ever. A few nights sitting up with one of his vics might do him a world of good. Might help him remain a human being. “What have you discovered about the people you had up on the wall yesterday?”
“I left a report in triplicate on your desk,” Higgins said.
“Why don’t you just phone next time?” Keren asked. “Save yourself the drive over.”
“It was on my way, and I wanted to make sure Pastor Morris came in early. I’ve got a long list of questions about the people we’re investigating. A few minutes talking with you, Pastor, might save us hours.” Higgins gave the door to the intensive care unit a disgruntled look, like the room was committing a crime by keeping LaToya from him.
“We’re taking a lot of heat over Melody Fredericks. Any second now, the press is going to connect these killings and go ballistic.”
“I’m coming in as soon as someone comes to sit with LaToya. I expect her any minute.”
Higgins glared as if he was tempted to arrest Paul and drag him into the station house. But finally he left, alone.
Keren pulled on her blazer and checked her gun, tucked in a holster at the small of her back. It hadn’t helped with her night’s sleep, and the hospital wasn’t real happy about her wandering around armed, but she wasn’t going anywhere without it.
O’Shea arrived with Rosita. They’d convinced her to wait for O’Shea, rather than take the bus or the El.
“Buddy’s back,” she announced cheerfully. “Louie showed up for his shift just as I was leaving and Murray was already at work on breakfast. They’ll keep things running at the mission so I’m free to be at the hospital.”
“I’m going to get some coffee in the lounge. Anyone else want a cup?” O’Shea rubbed his face, looking like he’d slept about as well as Keren and Paul.
“Is hospital coffee as good as mission coffee?” Rosita asked.
O’Shea shrugged. “Probably about the same.”
Rosie shuddered. “I’ll take a cup.”
Keren and Paul passed. O’Shea wandered off in search of caffeine.
“You haven’t told anyone what you’re doing, have you, Rosita?” Keren asked.
“No. Not too many of them remember LaToya—she’s been off the street for a while. So it’s not like they’d want to take a turn sitting with her. I told them a friend of mine is in the hospital, and that’s not a lie.”
Paul smiled at this former crack whore, who now worried about telling a lie. “Thanks. We’ve got to keep working on catching this maniac.”
“I’m rooting for you, Pastor P. I’m glad to do anything that will get this nut off the streets.”
They walked toward the exit door. Keren said, “I should go to the mission. I’d probably be able to eliminate Murray and Buddy just by meeting them.”
Paul nodded. “And I need to go over those pictures again with Higgins and see what he’s come up with.”
O’Shea came down the hall, handed Rosita her coffee, and headed after Keren and Paul. “Any change in the vie?”
Paul shook his head.
“She’s shown no signs of regaining consciousness.” Keren shoved her hands in the pockets of her slacks. “Paul’s going to go with you and get to work. I’ll be right behind you. I’ve got to run an errand first.”
“You’re not going home, are you?” Paul asked. “You know Pravus is paying attention to you now.”
“I’m sure I’d be fine. Pravus works in the dark. But no, I’m not going home.”
“Keep in touch and don’t take too long,” O’Shea said. He and Paul went one way, Keren another.
It was a wasted trip. There must have been some morning break, because there was almost no one at the mission, except a woman in the kitchen who wouldn’t speak to Keren or make eye contact. But she was baking bread that smelled like heaven. Hunting in the back rooms of the mission, Keren found a group of ladies from a local church who were stuffing envelopes.
“Where is everybody?” Keren asked the group of gray-haired worker bees.
One of them smiled at her from behind her trifocals. “It’s the first of the month.”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Welfare checks, social security checks, disability checks all come out today. Most of the people here will have money for the next few days. It gets pretty quiet.”
Frustrated, Keren headed for the station.
When she got there, O’Shea had more details. “We’ve narrowed the type of chisel down to a very specific artist’s tool.” He started talking before she had a chance to stick her purse in her desk drawer. “Only a half-dozen stores in the metro area handle them. The one Pravus threw was old, but we’re hoping he might be compulsive enough to need one exactly like it, so we’re monitoring the stores and any mail-order businesses that sell them.”
“Sounds good,” Keren said as she settled in. “What about the frogs?”
“The frogs were really interesting.”
Keren exchanged a look with Paul. He shrugged. “I thought they were pretty interesting when I was picking them out of my clothes.”
Keren shuddered, remembering. “How so?”
