failure.
Drake stepped back, observing Adam Cleary's final resting place. It was now a nicely mulched plot curving from the curb to the front entrance. Rhododendrons with glossy leaves lined the route, interspersed with budding azaleas, holly and low growing juniper. An exotic appearing tree that appeared out of harmony with the rest of the landscaping stood in the center of the plot. Right where Cleary's body laid, Drake realized after glancing at his father's sketch of the crime scene.
He stepped into the mulch, taking care not to disturb the plants anymore than necessary and leaned forward to read a small, brass plaque at the base of the tree.
"Beloved son, never forgotten," he read aloud.
"Kid was dumped here," Jimmy said. "We never did find the actual killing ground–not for any of them except the woman, Eades."
"Who found him?" Drake asked as he picked his way through the shrubs back out to the paved path.
Jimmy nodded to the park across the street. "Jogger–not even light out yet. Worked over in Bellefield Towers and was jogging into work. He checked out. Didn't see anything, just stopped to tie his shoe and saw a kid's pajamas. Took another step and saw there was a kid still in them, lost his breakfast, then called us."
"Eleven years," Drake muttered as they headed back to the car. He turned around one more time, marveling at how much seemed unchanged from the Phipps of his childhood. But, for Adam Cleary and his family, everything had changed. "Helluva long time."
"Yep," Jimmy said, leaning across the roof of the Intrepid, his gaze fixed on the graceful curves of the conservatory. "Might help if we could figure out why here. And why he never came back after the first one."
Drake frowned and opened the car door. "After this long, we might never learn anything."
<><><>
Situated in the basement of the main building, the medical records department was about as close to the Underworld as you could get at Three Rivers Medical Center. Even the morgue was upstairs with the pathology labs.
Most of the recent records were computerized, but there still existed hard copy backups. Cassie liked being able to look at the complete chart instead of one page at a time on the computer. Especially at times like this when she had no idea what she was actually looking for.
She stumbled as she crossed the entrance, her coordination hampered by a lack of sleep. A perpetual problem ever since what happened two months ago. Last night Cassie had almost been tempted to take a few of the Percocet her orthopod had prescribed and which still sat un-opened in her medicine cabinet.
Every time she did fall asleep, each groan and creak of her old house transformed into a killer's footsteps. A killer waiting to pounce on her, beat her unconscious, drug her, leaving her helpless to warn Drake as he walked into an ambush.
Ed and Adeena had hired a cleaning company that specialized in crime scenes to deal with the mess left in the wake of the killer's attack. It had taken days to scrub her oak floors clean of the dried blood, to clear the air of its stench, to vacuum and erase all the fingerprint dust and Luminol.
The worst had been finding the blackened, wilted and crushed remains of the roses Drake had brought her that night–only to confront a killer in her living room instead.
She yawned, covering it with the back of her hand. Last night had been particularly bad, the now-familiar scenes of that night six weeks ago mingled with Charlie's resuscitation yesterday. In the end it had been Drake staring up at her from the gurney, his blood covering Cassie's hands as his life slipped away.
There was only one clerk this early in the morning, and he seemed less than thrilled to be working, favoring her with a glare designed to send lesser beings skittering away to seek comfort above ground. Cassie met his gaze, undaunted. After the hell she'd been through, the
Drake stepped back, observing Adam Cleary's final resting place. It was now a nicely mulched plot curving from the curb to the front entrance. Rhododendrons with glossy leaves lined the route, interspersed with budding azaleas, holly and low growing juniper. An exotic appearing tree that appeared out of harmony with the rest of the landscaping stood in the center of the plot. Right where Cleary's body laid, Drake realized after glancing at his father's sketch of the crime scene.
He stepped into the mulch, taking care not to disturb the plants anymore than necessary and leaned forward to read a small, brass plaque at the base of the tree.
"Beloved son, never forgotten," he read aloud.
"Kid was dumped here," Jimmy said. "We never did find the actual killing ground–not for any of them except the woman, Eades."
"Who found him?" Drake asked as he picked his way through the shrubs back out to the paved path.
Jimmy nodded to the park across the street. "Jogger–not even light out yet. Worked over in Bellefield Towers and was jogging into work. He checked out. Didn't see anything, just stopped to tie his shoe and saw a kid's pajamas. Took another step and saw there was a kid still in them, lost his breakfast, then called us."
"Eleven years," Drake muttered as they headed back to the car. He turned around one more time, marveling at how much seemed unchanged from the Phipps of his childhood. But, for Adam Cleary and his family, everything had changed. "Helluva long time."
"Yep," Jimmy said, leaning across the roof of the Intrepid, his gaze fixed on the graceful curves of the conservatory. "Might help if we could figure out why here. And why he never came back after the first one."
Drake frowned and opened the car door. "After this long, we might never learn anything."
<><><>
Situated in the basement of the main building, the medical records department was about as close to the Underworld as you could get at Three Rivers Medical Center. Even the morgue was upstairs with the pathology labs.
Most of the recent records were computerized, but there still existed hard copy backups. Cassie liked being able to look at the complete chart instead of one page at a time on the computer. Especially at times like this when she had no idea what she was actually looking for.
She stumbled as she crossed the entrance, her coordination hampered by a lack of sleep. A perpetual problem ever since what happened two months ago. Last night Cassie had almost been tempted to take a few of the Percocet her orthopod had prescribed and which still sat un-opened in her medicine cabinet.
Every time she did fall asleep, each groan and creak of her old house transformed into a killer's footsteps. A killer waiting to pounce on her, beat her unconscious, drug her, leaving her helpless to warn Drake as he walked into an ambush.
Ed and Adeena had hired a cleaning company that specialized in crime scenes to deal with the mess left in the wake of the killer's attack. It had taken days to scrub her oak floors clean of the dried blood, to clear the air of its stench, to vacuum and erase all the fingerprint dust and Luminol.
The worst had been finding the blackened, wilted and crushed remains of the roses Drake had brought her that night–only to confront a killer in her living room instead.
She yawned, covering it with the back of her hand. Last night had been particularly bad, the now-familiar scenes of that night six weeks ago mingled with Charlie's resuscitation yesterday. In the end it had been Drake staring up at her from the gurney, his blood covering Cassie's hands as his life slipped away.
There was only one clerk this early in the morning, and he seemed less than thrilled to be working, favoring her with a glare designed to send lesser beings skittering away to seek comfort above ground. Cassie met his gaze, undaunted. After the hell she'd been through, the
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