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  “Did you have him arrested?” Mike asked.

  “No,” Michelle choked out. “It was a different time. Young women didn’t call the cops because their boyfriends smacked them. Besides, I was still trying to convince him to stop. I still loved him and I didn’t want him to get busted. It was just awful. And then Veronica died.”

  “How?”

  “She overdosed. Dwayne said he wasn’t there when it happened, but I never believed him. I was devastated. I went to her funeral and Dwayne was there, and he was high. That was it. I totally broke it off and I never spoke to him again. I talked to Veronica’s mother a few times, but then I graduated and went to med school and I tried to put it behind me. But when I started to get to know Steph and understand what happened to her sister, I could see myself, and Veronica. It could have been me, hooked on drugs and lying dead in some fleabag hotel.” Michelle was fighting back tears. Mike left his chair and went around the table to put his arm around her shoulder while she tried to get herself together. Mike had seen her lose control of her emotions only once before, and that time she was tied to a chair after being kidnapped. Otherwise, she was a rock, but the case of Christine Barker had struck a deeply buried nerve.

  “So, after Dwayne, you had trouble trusting men?” Mike asked seriously, but knowing that it was the understatement of the year.

  Michelle spasmed with a half-sob and half-laugh and smiled at Mike. “Y-y-yes, Mike, I guess you could say that I had some trust issues.”

  “I will promise you that I will do my very, very best to never make you regret trusting me.” Mike looked into her eyes and made sure she knew that he meant it.

  “Aren’t you going to–” she sniffed and wiped her nose as she regained her composure, “tell me that you’ll never hurt me?”

  Mike looked at her seriously. He was on one knee next to her chair, his arm still around her shoulder, which had stopped convulsing. “I can’t promise that. I’m a cop, and I could get hurt again, which I know would hurt you. I could even die. I know neither of us wants to think about that, but we both know it could happen. But I can promise that I will protect you as long as I’m breathing and I will never, ever, hit you.”

  Michelle wrapped her arms around Mike’s neck and hugged him tightly until the waiter arrived with their food. He asked if he should come back, but Michelle disengaged, sat back in her chair, and motioned for the server to put down the food. For the rest of lunch, they didn’t discuss the Christine Barker case, or any other case. They did talk about Michelle’s medical school years, where she found her stride as a student. They talked about her summer internship working for a public health clinic in Baltimore and about patients she remembered helping. That’s what she always wanted to do – help people. By the time lunch was over and Mike walked her back to the lab, Michelle had wiped away any remnants of her tears and Natalie did not even ask whether there was anything wrong.

  Ж Ж Ж

  That Thursday, Mike gave Michelle an informal, off-the-record briefing on the Christine Barker investigation. Ray had sent copies of the file to Lieutenant Magnan and had not heard any updates from the Vice unit. Mike had mentioned the idea of reaching out to the Seattle PD to try to get some more background on Christine, but Captain Sullivan had shot down that idea. Sitting in the living room of Michelle’s well-organized apartment, Mike could feel that Michelle was frustrated.

  “Mike, while you’re on leave, do you have to stay in New York?”

  “I guess not, as long as I don’t fall too far behind on my physical therapy sessions. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m thinking that it might be nice to take a trip. I have some vacation time coming to me. Let’s get away for a few days. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a nice idea. It’s still cold as balls outside; are you thinking about a warm beach somewhere in the Caribbean? Didn’t you tell me you knew someone who could get us a deal on a cruise?”

  “Actually,” Michelle said as she slid over to Mike and slipped her arm behind his back, “I was thinking about visiting the Pacific Northwest.”

  Mike pulled away slightly and turned his head to look at Michelle, whose eyes were pleading. “I don’t suppose that the itinerary for this trip would include a visit with Steph Barker?”

  “It couldn’t hurt to meet her, right?” Michelle’s expression was so pitiful that Mike realized he had two options. He could agree to Michelle’s idea and go along with her desire to put a salve on her own mental scars by making a connection with this poor woman who had lost her sister, which would make him a hero in her eyes and solidify his position as her supportive boyfriend. Or, he could tell her that such a trip would be a waste of time and would not bring Christine back from the dead. That would spark an argument that would probably end with Mike agreeing anyway, but only after annihilating any good feelings about the trip, making Michelle feel both guilty about coercing him and angry with him for not being more supportive.

  Mike looked at the only woman in the world with whom he would agree to spend six hours in an airplane. “When do we leave?”

  Chapter 18 – Searching for the Needle

  Friday, March 8

  WHILE MIKE AND MICHELLE WERE IN A CAB on their way to JFK airport on a cold morning, a crowd of five hundred or so protesters and community leaders was gathered in the Bronx outside the bodega where Raul Rosario was murdered, along with live remote crews from all the major networks. A makeshift podium had been erected on the sidewalk to give the television cameras a good angle of the flowers and candles that were assembled on the wall outside the store. A parade of community leaders spoke about the tragic death of an upstanding citizen and railed against the general violence and gang culture that the police had been unable to control. There was plenty of criticism of Police Commissioner Ward, but the speakers were careful not to cast blame on Mayor Frederick Douglass, only the second Black mayor in the history of the city. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy by one speaker, who kept repeating that the victim was Latino and the chief suspect was white, and that the police were doing nothing to arrest the man. There were chants and songs and calls for justice.

  Ж Ж Ж

  Jason and Ray still had no communication from the Gallata task force about their suspect. They had a sketch circulating to all officers, but they had no leads. Sully reported that the district commander overseeing the Vice task force had nixed the idea of going public with the sketch, for fear of compromising an unspecified aspect of the ongoing undercover operation.

  “So, the guy is definitely connected to the Gallatas, and they probably know who he is,” Jason said to nobody in particular as he and Ray sat in the captain’s office. “They don’t want him blown, for some reason, which is why they’re not telling us who he is. They don’t want him to know that we know who he is, so they don’t want a public viewing of his sketch.”

  “That seems about right,” Sullivan agreed.

  “And the commissioner is willing to take the heat from the protesters and the press, who say we’re not doing enough to solve the Rosario murder, in order to protect the ongoing investigation,” Ray chimed in.

  “No,” Sullivan responded with great frustration. “The commissioner will not publicly admit that we are standing down on arresting the guy. He’s not stupid.”

  “What about other leads, not connected to the Gallata investigation?” Ray asked. “Are we clear to work those?”

  “Like what?” Sullivan asked.

  “What about the three thugs who were with our guy? Can we lean on them?”

  “No,” Sullivan said. “They are presumed to be part of the Gallata operation. Besides, it wouldn’t matter. They’re not talking and they are lawyered up well beyond the means of gang bangers. But even if they were available for questioning, it’s part of the task force investigation. They’re off limits.”

  Neither Ray nor Jason had any other ideas.

  “It’s not your problem,” Sullivan said finally. “Work your other cases.”

/>   “Fine,” Jason said, getting up and heading for the door, with Ray on his heels.

  The next day, the New York Times ran a page one story on the Rosario murder. The article, written by Dexter Peacock, criticized the NYPD, and named Detectives Jason Dickson and Raymond McMillian. Peacock noted that the two detectives had failed to make an arrest in the case and that they had allowed the chief suspect not only to get away during the sting operation they had set up, but to remain at large despite so much public attention on the case.

  “He’s not wrong,” Jason said sullenly, sitting at his desk in the bullpen with Ray standing nearby.

  “We gotta figure out a way to get to this guy without needing the help of our task force,” Ray said.

  “That would be sweet,” Jason agreed. “Any bright ideas?”

  Ray said nothing.

  Chapter 19 – Road Trip

  IT WASN’T UNTIL THEY WERE THREE HOURS INTO their flight to Seattle that Mike thought to ask Michelle what their schedule was for meeting up with Steph Barker. The doctor explained that she had arranged to call Steph when they reached Port Angeles and they would arrange a time and place for meeting the next morning.

  They landed at 1:00 p.m. local time and spent the rest of the day in Seattle, eating at Ivar’s Salmon House, taking in the beautiful scenery from the top of the Space Needle, and strolling through the Pike Place market. The next morning, Mike rented a car and they drove it onto a huge ferry that shuttled them across the Puget Sound. After exiting the ferry, they enjoyed the ninety-minute drive along the Olympic Peninsula through old-growth forest land along the rugged coastline, with the snow-covered mountains rising on their left in a series of jagged peaks. Eventually they reached the town of Port Angeles, listed on the sign at the city limit as having a population of 19,872. The outskirts of town looked like any suburban strip, filled with fast-food restaurants, gas stations, small businesses, and lots of billboards. Mike followed his GPS to the hotel Michelle had booked, the Olympic Lodge.

  The place had a rustic-looking interior, filled with rough-hewn logs, stones, and sculptures of elk, bears, eagles, and other fauna of the mountain region. Mike walked up to the front desk and gave his name. A cheery young woman who looked no older than high-school age smiled and asked him whether he would like a separate key for “Mrs. Stoneman.” Mike stumbled for a moment and looked over at Michelle, standing a few feet away with their suitcases. “Sure,” he replied meekly.

  On their way to the elevator, Mike said in a hushed voice, “Did you make the reservation as Mr. and Mrs. Stoneman?”

  “It was just easier that way,” she said.

  Mike tossed his suitcase on one side of the king bed and went to check out the bathroom. When he returned, he stopped and watched in silence as Michelle meticulously unpacked her suitcase, removing perfectly folded clothing and moving each item carefully to one of the drawers in a chest opposite the foot of the bed. When she was done, all her things were neatly arranged. Michelle looked up at Mike. “What are you staring at?”

  “Just you and your perfect clothes. Where are your dirties from Seattle, anyway?”

  “They are in a separate bag in the suitcase, not that it matters. Now, if you will kindly give me a few minutes in the bathroom, I need to unpack my toiletries.”

  Mike stepped aside and allowed her to pass by, then came around behind her and stood at the threshold of the bathroom while Michelle arranged her makeup supplies and other personal grooming items on the counter to the left of the sink. “What if I told you that I wanted the left side for my stuff?” Mike asked.

  “I’d tell you to use the right side. The left side is where I live.”

  Mike shrugged. It was the same way in Michelle’s apartment, so why should it be any different in a hotel? He wondered if Michelle would be able to put up with him and his sloppily folded clothes. He liked to just toss his dirties in the bottom of the closet and dump them all into his suitcase for the return trip. He placated himself by thinking that traveling together would be a good test for whether they could be compatible long-term. Then he found himself wondering what long-term meant to him. He decided not to ask what it meant to her.

  Michelle and Mike took advantage of the remaining daylight and drove up the mountain road to the lodge at Hurricane Ridge, where they got a spectacular view deeper into the Olympic mountains. On the way back down, they were treated to the view back down to the Port Angeles harbor and across the straits of Juan de Fuca to Vancouver Island, part of British Columbia, Canada. They could see a few large tankers and cargo ships on the water far below, and in the other direction skiers and snow boarders were enjoying the snow-covered mountain trails.

  “It’s gorgeous here,” Michelle marveled. She had lived on the East Coast her whole life and while she had traveled, she had never seen a place where she could drive from the ocean to a ski slope in under an hour.

  “It sure is,” Mike agreed. “I’d love to see it in the summer. But I can also understand how a teenage girl might want to branch out to the big city.”

  “I know, but it’s so quiet and peaceful here. Why would you want to leave and go to the big, noisy, dirty city?”

  Mike laughed. “You always want what you don’t have, I guess. Plus, don’t be fooled by the peace and quiet. You ever hear of Israel Keyes?”

  “No, should I?”

  “Not really. He was a serial killer. He confessed to killing eleven people, mostly in remote places like this. He committed suicide in a jail cell in Alaska in 2012, but several of his victims were from this area. One was dumped in a deep-water lake just west of Port Angeles. He loved hiking trails and camp grounds where he could find his victims alone and vulnerable. So, don’t think that all this peace and quiet means that everything is rainbows and unicorns.”

  “My, aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” Michelle said, frowning and slapping Mike’s right arm with a good-natured jab.

  “Just keeping it real,” Mike replied, glad that his surgically-repaired shoulder had not been in the line of fire. “So, we’re meeting the sister in the morning?”

  “Yes. It will be Sunday, so she doesn’t have to work.”

  “Where does she work?”

  “She’s an assistant at a rehabilitation facility.”

  “Really? Can she arrange for me to have a PT session while we’re in town?”

  Michelle laughed. “I thought you hated them.”

  “I do, but I’m falling farther behind Dolores.”

  “Well, let’s first talk to her and go from there,” Michelle said. “She seems like such a good kid, and she’s hurting so much over this. I’m just hoping that we can give her some closure and help her get over it.”

  “That’s not generally in our job descriptions,” Mike observed.

  “Maybe not, but I’m making it mine for this weekend.”

  Ж Ж Ж

  The next morning, Mike woke up with a stiff neck. Sleeping on his right side to protect his left shoulder was not that bad, but he normally had a soft feather pillow. As they were leaving the building, Mike went to the front desk and asked to get a feather pillow for the next night, but a cheery young woman behind the counter announced that the hotel was “proudly” feather-free. Mike grumbled something about west coast tree-huggers as they walked down the hill outside the hotel to their meeting location.

  He and Michelle checked in with the hostess at Joshua’s Diner ten minutes before their scheduled meeting time. They were escorted to a booth by the window and offered coffee while they waited for Steph Barker. Mike looked sternly across the Formica tabletop at Michelle. “If this is a police investigation, then let me do the talking. I don’t want anyone thinking that you’re involved.”

  “I’m very involved, Mike.”

  “I know you are, but I don’t want anyone else to know. If there is a murderer out there, I don’t want him finding out that you’re poking around in his business.”

  “Because he might come after me?”

  “I
worry about it, yes. After what happened with Ronald Randall, I – I never want you to be put in danger because of one of my investigations again.”

  Michelle’s face hardened. “So, am I not allowed to do my job as medical examiner? I shouldn’t testify in court about somebody’s cause of death?”

  “No, of course not,” Mike said, trying to recover his balance. “That’s your job. But I don’t want to think that you could be a target. Let me take the heat. I’m not sure I could live with myself if anything happened to you.”

  Michelle’s expression softened and she reached out for Mike’s hand. “Hey, I had a couple of bad weeks after that night. I had trouble sleeping while you were in the hospital. I told myself it was because I was worried about you, but I had a lot of nightmares. I got over it. Randall is dead, Mike. I’m a big girl and I can handle my own battles.”

  “I know you are,” Mike said quietly. “But what if Jason’s right, and Christine fell into working as a hooker for the Gallata organization? What if one of those goons decides to send the cops a message by hurting you? I can’t live with that.”

  “Listen,” Michelle said, getting a little angry, “one of the things I like about being with you is that you treat me like an equal and a colleague. You start holding back and trying to protect me, and I’m going to be pissed off. I’m not going to tell you that I don’t think about it. I thought long and hard about whether being in a relationship with you might put me in danger again. It might. But I think you’re worth it. If you don’t feel the same way, then tell me now.”

  At that moment, Mike looked over Michelle’s shoulder and said, “I do, but right now we have company.”

  Michelle swiveled her head around and saw a face she knew only from the internet. She jumped to her feet and held out a hand to Steph Barker. She was surprised when the girl gave her a hug instead.