claimed she hadn’t yet settled into her old routine. The story was flimsy. She knew it and Kissick knew it. Didn’t matter. She was sticking to it and she knew he’d back her up for now. What could they do, call her a liar? Being a cop was all about putting up barriers—between the Job and home life, between one’s emotions and the ugliness of what the Job brings day in and day out. There was no need for her to reveal the panic attacks to anyone in the department. There was no need for anyone, including her daughter, to know how much the attacks frightened her.
They made her feel damaged. Damaged beyond her control.
The panic attack today had taken her by surprise. She thought she had corralled her fear of being inside strange homes. Put it in a box. Tied it with a ribbon. Here it is, my phobia. And now I’m setting it on a shelf where it can’t affect me. Today was the first time she’d seen a homicide victim since her assault. Had this phobia been hiding beneath her other, more obvious one? Would seeing any corpse provoke a panic attack or had the source of this one been more specific? A tortured and slaughtered female cop streaked with dried blood.
She couldn’t shake the image of Frankie’s dead eyes flashing to life and her chapped lips speaking to her. To her.
“I am you. I am not you.”
Her rational mind insisted that the incident on the hillside had been pure hallucination. Fantasy. Imagination. Nothing more.
On the drive back to the station, Vining pursued something that Early had said.
“You said we’re going to have a long day and night. Thought I was Residential Burglary under Sergeant Cho.”
“This is going to be a big investigation with all eyes on us. Not just L.A.; this will be news in Timbuktu, the way things go these days. It’s more than Kissick and Ruiz can handle by themselves. You’re the logical choice to be on the team and we’ll need more than just you. I want to break this thing and fast, for our sake. For Frank Lynde’s sake.”
“Kissick wasn’t sure she was Frank’s daughter.”
“That’s Kissick’s style. He was sure. He was just waiting. You were sure.”
The searing look she gave Vining was a test to see if her opinion about the dead woman’s identity was solid.
“It’s Frankie Lynde,” Vining said.
“The coroner will have a positive I.D. any time now. Detective Schuyler should have done a lot of our homework for us. Kissick’s calling him to arrange a meeting.”
“Now we have the body. Let’s hope she gives up her secrets.”
While Early waited for the gate to roll back at the Ramona Street garage entrance, several reporters who knew enough about the station to go there instead of the front entrance rushed the car. Early accelerated past them.
“So it starts.”
S ITTING AT HER NEW DESK IN THE SECTION OF THE CUBICLE WARREN ALLOCATED to property crimes, Vining wrapped the remaining half of the bagel, cream cheese, turkey, and sprouts sandwich in wax paper and shoved it to the corner. She’d ordered something healthy-sounding only because Sergeant Early was with her. The bundle in wax paper was the sole item on her desk. The drawers held only pens and pads of paper. She’d neglected to bring a mug or any personal items. After she was injured, Kissick had boxed up the handful of things in her cubicle—drawings and crafts done by Emily and family photos—and delivered them to her house. For safekeeping, he’d said. After she’d pressed, he confessed that Ruiz had moved into her cubicle. The box was still unopened in a corner of her family room where he’d set it that day. She’d bring it back tomorrow.
Something made her look up. She saw Officer Alex Caspers peering at her over the top of the adjoining cubicle.
“Pretty fucked up, huh?”
“What’s that?”
“Finding Frank Lynde’s daughter nude and cut up.”
“Where d’ya hear that?”
“Come on…” He made a sucking noise with his teeth. “Shame. She was real good
They made her feel damaged. Damaged beyond her control.
The panic attack today had taken her by surprise. She thought she had corralled her fear of being inside strange homes. Put it in a box. Tied it with a ribbon. Here it is, my phobia. And now I’m setting it on a shelf where it can’t affect me. Today was the first time she’d seen a homicide victim since her assault. Had this phobia been hiding beneath her other, more obvious one? Would seeing any corpse provoke a panic attack or had the source of this one been more specific? A tortured and slaughtered female cop streaked with dried blood.
She couldn’t shake the image of Frankie’s dead eyes flashing to life and her chapped lips speaking to her. To her.
“I am you. I am not you.”
Her rational mind insisted that the incident on the hillside had been pure hallucination. Fantasy. Imagination. Nothing more.
On the drive back to the station, Vining pursued something that Early had said.
“You said we’re going to have a long day and night. Thought I was Residential Burglary under Sergeant Cho.”
“This is going to be a big investigation with all eyes on us. Not just L.A.; this will be news in Timbuktu, the way things go these days. It’s more than Kissick and Ruiz can handle by themselves. You’re the logical choice to be on the team and we’ll need more than just you. I want to break this thing and fast, for our sake. For Frank Lynde’s sake.”
“Kissick wasn’t sure she was Frank’s daughter.”
“That’s Kissick’s style. He was sure. He was just waiting. You were sure.”
The searing look she gave Vining was a test to see if her opinion about the dead woman’s identity was solid.
“It’s Frankie Lynde,” Vining said.
“The coroner will have a positive I.D. any time now. Detective Schuyler should have done a lot of our homework for us. Kissick’s calling him to arrange a meeting.”
“Now we have the body. Let’s hope she gives up her secrets.”
While Early waited for the gate to roll back at the Ramona Street garage entrance, several reporters who knew enough about the station to go there instead of the front entrance rushed the car. Early accelerated past them.
“So it starts.”
S ITTING AT HER NEW DESK IN THE SECTION OF THE CUBICLE WARREN ALLOCATED to property crimes, Vining wrapped the remaining half of the bagel, cream cheese, turkey, and sprouts sandwich in wax paper and shoved it to the corner. She’d ordered something healthy-sounding only because Sergeant Early was with her. The bundle in wax paper was the sole item on her desk. The drawers held only pens and pads of paper. She’d neglected to bring a mug or any personal items. After she was injured, Kissick had boxed up the handful of things in her cubicle—drawings and crafts done by Emily and family photos—and delivered them to her house. For safekeeping, he’d said. After she’d pressed, he confessed that Ruiz had moved into her cubicle. The box was still unopened in a corner of her family room where he’d set it that day. She’d bring it back tomorrow.
Something made her look up. She saw Officer Alex Caspers peering at her over the top of the adjoining cubicle.
“Pretty fucked up, huh?”
“What’s that?”
“Finding Frank Lynde’s daughter nude and cut up.”
“Where d’ya hear that?”
“Come on…” He made a sucking noise with his teeth. “Shame. She was real good
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