Envy (Fallen Angels 3)

"No hug," his father drawled.

Veck didn't bother replying to that one. He was through wasting his breath and his time on the sonofabitch. In fact, he wasn't sure why he'd come - just to trade potshots? There was no crossroads he could see here ... Then again, maybe the point had been that message to Heron?

As Veck turned and walked over to the guard, the other guy opened the door quickly, like he didn't want to be in the enclosed space a moment longer, either.

"Thomas," his father called out. "I'll see you in the mirror, son. Every day."

The closing door cut offe="3"rds.

"You okay?" the guard asked.

"Just fine. Thanks."

Following the other man, Veck headed in the direction they'd come from. "When's the execution scheduled for?"

"First thing in the morning, Wednesday. If you petition the warden, I think you can get a seat."

"Good to know."

As he strode along, Veck could feel his father's presence with him, as if the battery that kept that evil lamp inside of him on had been plugged into its charger and regained a strength it hadn't had for years.

In the center of his chest, that dark anger flared to life ... and spread.

"You sure you're okay, Detective?"

Veck wasn't certain which part of him was answering as he replied, "Never felt better in my life."

Chapter 38

"You did the right thing."

Reilly glanced over the felt lip of her cubicle. Her supervisor was leaning against the partition, her coat on, her briefcase in one hand, her keys dangling from the other.

"And you should go home."

Reilly smiled a little. "Just catching up."

"No offense, but bullshit - I'm not going to stop you, though."

"Thank you." Reilly stretched her arms over her head. "I've just got to do this. For my own sanity."

On the screen of her computer was that preliminary list of evidence that had come out of Kroner's impounded truck. She'd done a word search on earring and was now scanning the descriptions and first-impression photos one by one.

She had about fifteen more to go, and then she was going to comb through the master list, which had been finalized just this afternoon.

Stuff like this she had to see for herself.

Her supervisor nodded. "No, I get it. And FYI, DelVecchio hasn't returned my calls - and I just talked to the sergeant again. Nothing there, either."

"When are you going to issue an arrest warrant for him?"

"Noontime tomorrow if he hasn't turned himself in for questioning before then."

The charge would be tampering with evidence. Both she and her supervisor, as well as the sergeant, had screened the security video of the evidence room from the day before - and they had watched as Veck had gone in, looked through all the cataloged objects, and then rifled through the box of things that had yet to be logged in. That was his opportunity, and he had made several passes in and out of his pocket with his left hand.

It was not ironclad proof, but paired with Bails's statements and the discrepancy in the list, it was enough to at least arrest him. Besides, if he wasn't responding to calls, there was a good chance they were right.

"Be honest with me," her boss said. "Do you fear for your own personal safety."

"No." Maybe.

"Do you want me to put a patrol on your house?"

"Good idea. And consider the patrol done." The woman put her hand on Reilly's shoulder. "Don't blame yourself for any of this."

"How can I not?"

"You can't control other people."

But she could choose whether or not to sleep with them, for god's sakes. Changing the subject, she said, "So are you finished talking to Bails?"

"Yup, his statement's on file. You can read it if you like - it's exactly what he told you. He just left a little while ago."

"I'll do that. And before you say it, yes, I promise to go home before midnight."

Her boss was almost at the door when Reilly called out, "When are you going to talk to the Bartens about this?"

"Not until our ducks are in a row. Those poor people have been through hell and back, and the idea that a cop might have slaughtered their daughter is going to make it so much worse. Especially with the name DelVecchio associated with the case."

And in light of the fact that Veck had been in their house.

At that moment, his own words replayed in her head. I took that man into a victim's home.

God, he was such a liar.

"Call me if you want to talk," her boss murmured.

"I will. And thanks again."

As she was left by herself, she thought of Jim Heron, the "FBI" agent, the one who had "shown" them the cave where Sissy's remains had been found.

Veck had played that scene brilliantly. So surprised when it happened. So professional thereafter.

And as for the lack of muddy footprints on the rock? Heron could have been camping down there for hours as he waited for Veck to lead her in the right direction, the soles of his shoes drying off until he raced away in another direction. And they'd all been so transfixed by finding the body, no one had looked for him. Which had been a major mistake.

It was clear that Heron and Veck had to be working together.

Reilly cursed and refocused on her screen. The last of the preliminary earring entries took no time to go through, and as she'd expected, there was no dove anything to be found. Just as Bails had said.

After she moved over to the final version, with its precise photographs taken with a microscope, the cataloging was so succinct it was the work of a moment to find the earring. The discrepancy hadn't been noted; it would be soon, however.

"What a mess," she murmured, as she went over to Sissy's file to review the autopsy pictures again.

God, they were physically painful to look at.

In the course of her years on the force, she had seen a lot of gruesome things, but the situation with Sissy got to her. Maybe because she'd become personally involved, thanks to some criminally stupid decisions on her own part.

Unsettled, but unable to leave yet, she decided to waste some time on the Internet. Entering the name "Thomas DelVecchio Sr." into Google gave her over one million references in seventeen seconds. Mousing down through the tally, she clicked over and scanned some ofthe blogs and the Web sites - only to become seriously unimpressed with humanity.

Not that she needed the help in that department.

There was just so much adoration for the wrong reasons, and she had to wonder how many of these people would think it was fun if their daughter or mother had been one of the victims. Or if they themselves had fallen into DelVecchio's hands ... and knives.

Refining her search to victims, she found plenty of references to the first woman who had been killed, including some with autopsy photos. And doing a side-by-side comparison between Sissy Barten and Suzie Bussman told her what she already knew: The method and markings were the same.

What a way to pay homage to your father. God, even the names were eerily similar.

Reclining deeply into her chair, her eyes went back and forth between the two halves of the screen - and she found herself praying that they found enough to nail Veck. All they had to go on right now was the planted earring, Kroner's statements with regard to the quarry, and the fact that Veck had been in the Barten house. Then again, everyone had approached the case as if Kroner had done it. No one had been looking at Veck - and that was changing now. His desk, computer, and locker had already been searched and everything in them seized. His home was being cased. And as soon as he showed up, he was going straight into interrogation.

Although maybe he'd gone on the run -

Reilly jerked up and wrenched around in her chair.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears, drowning out the sound of the heat coming through the ceiling vents, and the whirring of computer equipment ... and the creak she'd heard behind her.

Glancing to the ceiling, she looked at the security camera in the far corner. The red light on its belly was slowly blinking, the lazy cycle of flashes telling her it was operational.

"Who's there."

Of course no one answered. Because there was no one there.

Right?

She listened to her own breathing for a while, and then thought, Okay, this is bullshit. She was not going to be bullied in her own goddamn department.

Bursting out of her chair, she marched down the lane of empty cubicles and checked the conference rooms and offices. On the trip back, she went all the way to the main door, pushed it open, and looked down the hall both ways.