Chosen To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

She just had to keep trying.

CHOSEN TO DIE

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No matter how painful it was.

Before the son of a bitch who’d trapped her here returned.

The wail on the other end of the line said it all. Alvarez thought if she lived to be a hundred that shriek of horrified denial would be with her forever.

“Noooooo!” Marlene O’Leary had cried, sobbing, while her husband, on the extension, had been cold.

“But you just found the car, not Elyssa,” he repeated, trying to squeeze a drop of hope out of the circumstances.

“That’s true.” Alvarez had explained the situation, knowing she was destroying these people’s lives.

“Nooooo . . . Nooooo.”

“Shh, Mother!” Brian O’Leary cautioned, though with a hint of compassion. “We don’t know what’s happened to Elyssa.”

“But . . . But . . . oh . . . Oh, God . . . No, no, no.”

She sounded as if she were hyperventilating.

“Marlene. Calm down. Look, Detective, I’ll call you back.”

“My baby, no, no, no,” the desolate woman cried. Alvarez heard the sound of O’Leary shushing his wife and imagined the burly, gruff man wrapping his beefy arms around his frail wife, holding her steady while his very world collapsed.

There was a final click as they hung up the phone.

“I’m sorry,” Alvarez said and felt sick to her soul. She was supposed to be tough, to have a thick skin so that she could deal with the horror and tragedy 134

Lisa Jackson

of homicides, the taking of a life by another human being. Mostly, she could handle it, but dealing with grieving loved ones, giving them bad news, that was the part that ate at her and caused her to sometimes second-guess her career path. She hung up the phone and sat at her desk, staring at the picture of Elyssa O’Leary smiling into the camera at some DMV office in Montana.

She might not be dead yet.

But there was no report from the crew of the helicopter that had gone searching earlier, and the snow was beginning to fall in earnest again. Chapter Ten

“Hello, Mr. Tinneman, this is Dr. Ramsby at Mountain View Hospital in Seattle, returning your call. I’m Padgett Long’s psychiatrist.” Seated in the chair in her office, Jalicia had waited five minutes for Tinneman’s secretary to roust the lawyer up, and now that he was finally on the other end of the line, she had trouble biting back her irritation.

“Oh, good, good. I was hoping you’d call,” the man said in a rush. “I just wanted to let you know that Padgett’s father’s health has declined substantially in the last few weeks. He’s been in a care facility, a great facility, Regal Oaks, the best in Denver, but he’s failing and a few weeks ago hospice was called in. I’m afraid it looks like Mr. Long’s failing and, unfortunately, probably won’t last out the month, possibly the week.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you for the information.” Jalicia waited. There was more to the attorney’s message, she was sure of it. 136

Lisa Jackson

“You don’t have to worry about Padgett’s care; Hubert was very careful to see that she will be taken care of for the rest of her life. A trust has been established, so nothing should change. As always the bills can be sent or e-mailed here and we’ll pay them promptly. But—”

Here it comes, Jalicia thought.

“Well, Padgett and her father were extremely close before her accident and . . . and I was wondering how exactly to break the news to her, or if it’s a good idea.”

“We don’t lie here, Mr. Tinneman.”

“Oh, no, no. Of course not. But, well, I haven’t seen Padgett in a while.”