Cherry Bomb

A moment after she closes the door behind her, Alex lashes out with the knife edge of her hand, catching the woman on the bridge of her nose. The woman collapses. Alex gets on top, pressing her face into the carpeting, tearing at her cotton top for use in binding her hands. The scream is still building up in the woman’s throat when Alex muffles it with a cloth napkin. Legs are tied using some discarded panty hose, and Alex hoists the woman up to the bed.

“Don’t move, don’t make a sound, and I won’t hurt you.”

The woman freezes, stock-still, eyes wide with fear.

“Now I want to ask you a question, and I need you to answer honestly. Nod your head if the room ser vice fish was good.”

There’s a slow, unsure nod.

“Are you positive? Because I saw the restaurant menu downstairs and they have a prime rib special. I like prime rib, but I’ll try the fish if you think it was worthwhile.”

Another nod, more emphatic. Alex has learned not to trust people who fear for their lives, so she picks up the phone and orders both the fish and the prime rib. Just to be safe.

“So what’s on?” Alex asks. She flops onto the bed next to the woman, gently strokes her hair, and hits the pause button on the remote.

CHAPTER 23

SCOTT HAJEK’S EYES bugged out when he saw me, and they practically escaped his skull when he noticed Phin. He tried to slam his apartment door, but my new Nikes were faster and I blocked the attempt.

“You can’t be here.” Hajek’s face pinched. “The Feds are after you both.”

“You found that out pretty fast.” I pushed my way in. “Do you listen to your police sca

Hajek folded his arms. “Yes. I do.”

The apartment was furnished in 1980s male fanboy, science fiction posters and paraphernalia of the Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica variety everywhere I looked. Phin followed me in and closed the door. I briefly wondered what his apartment looked like, and would have bet some serious money he didn’t own a single collectible figurine.

Hajek reached for a Buffy the Vampire Slayer phone, and Phin stepped in front of him, fists raised.

“You’re a fugitive. I’m calling the police.”

“You are the police,” Phin said. “You want to read me my rights?”

Hajek persisted in his quest for the phone. “I’m calling for backup.”

Phin caught his wrist. “No, you’re not.”

“Or else, what? You’ll beat me up?”

“That sounds about right.”

Hajek thrust his lower jaw at Phin.

“You’re not going to lay a finger on me with the lieutenant watching.”

“Jack,” Phin said. “Close your eyes for a second.”

I turned away, heard the fist co

“Want me to turn away again?” I asked.

Hajek had his palm pressed to his right eye. The defiance had drained out of him.

“What is it you two want?”

I walked over. “You’re writing a book about Alexandra Kork.”

“I’m compiling notes, mostly. Haven’t written much yet. Did he have to hit me?”

Phin picked up a replica Death Star bookend and whacked Hajek across the knuckles.

“Jesus! What the hell is wrong with you!” Hajek took the hand away from his eye to cradle the new injury.

“We made you give us information,” Phin said, “but you fought back like a tiger.”

Hajek looked at the blood on his fingers and gri

“Yeah, I did. Could you smack my other hand too? Make it look like I went all Charles Bronson on you?”

“Maybe later,” Phin said.

“We should get some of your blood on my carpet. Maybe on my shirt too. For the DNA match. It will look like I really kicked your ass before you subdued me. I think I’ve got a syringe someplace.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Okay. Can you spit on me, maybe? We can get DNA from that. Or when you’re working me over, I can spit on you. Get in your face and be all You can’t make me talk.”

“No one is spitting on anyone,” I said. “We need your help, Scott.”

Scott held out his hand. “I should put some Neosporin on this.” He eyed Phin. “You think Bronson used Neosporin?”

“Sure,” Phin said. “Those punks he beat up were probably lousy with germs.”

“Do you have germs? I mean, I don’t want to imply that you’re germy or anything. You’re not germy, are you?”

I tapped his shoulder. “Scott, focus for a minute. I know more about Kork than anyone else. I could tell you things not in any files or newspaper stories. That’s why you wanted to have di

He squinted at me with his good eye. “Partly. I also used to find you attractive, until you started bullying me around.”

I took out the cell phone, showed him the picture of Lance on the bed, along with the text message.

“Ever see this guy in any of your research?”

“No.” He rubbed his chin. “But that’s a pigstick. They use them on bomb squads.”

“We think he’s an EOD cop. He’s only got a few hours left to live. We need to save him.”

I reached out, touched Hajek on the shoulder. He flinched a little.

“He might be from Alex’s past, Scott. You’ve read the files. Did she know anyone named Lance?”

“I du

“Can we see your notes?” Phin asked.

“Sure. They’re in the study. I should get my Neosporin first.”

“Notes first.”

“That works too.”

We filed into the study. Scott rubbed his knuckles on his computer screen, and across the top of his keyboard, but the bleeding had already stopped so I doubted the CSU would pick up anything.

“Can I have a few hairs at least?” he asked Phin.

Phin sighed, then bent down, allowing Hajek to pluck out a few blond strands and sprinkle them across the desk.

“Scott? The clock is ticking. We need those notes.”

“Okay. I’ve sca

His screen saver, predictably, was Xena, but his computer desktop background surprised me.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Phin gave me a small nudge. “That’s a good picture of you.”

It was candid shot, at a crime scene. A close-up of my face. I was talking to someone out of frame. The detail was very good, and I looked closer and saw he’d used some computer program to airbrush out my crow’s-feet.

“I took it a while ago,” Scott said. “I think it captures the lieutenant’s professionalism while also showing a softer side. She was breaking the news to the victim’s mother here. If you look closely, at her left eye, you can see the underlying sadness, even though the face is all business.”

Phin leaned in closer.

“Yeah. I see it. You see the sadness there, Jack?”

“The notes,” I repeated.

Hajek pressed some keys, opened a word processing program. I wondered how many other candid shots of me were on the computer, and whether I should be flattered or paranoid.

“I’m searching for Lance. And here we are.”

We all read the sentence. In some notes taken by Alex’s court-appointed psychiatrist, she’d mentioned a relationship with a man while still in the marines and stationed at Ft. Geiger. But Lance wasn’t his name. His name was David Strang, and he was a lance corporal.

“Can you find out anything about him?” I asked.

“I’m crawling the search engines now. Okay, here’s a newspaper article. He’s a cop in Milwaukee. Bomb Squad. No picture, but let me look for images.”

Hajek found Strang’s police ID photo. He was late thirties, mustached. I held up the picture on the cell phone and we compared the two.

“Same ears,” Hajek said. “It’s him.”