Part 2 (2/2)

”I've known it to happen,” the nurse said. ”Nothing is impossible.”

”I'll stay with her tonight,” Meredith said.

”But--”

”I'll take the responsibility. I would just like to spend some time with her.”

The nurse nodded.

After she was gone, Meredith leaned back and closed her eyes. Images went through her mind. The cool politeness between her mother and father. The causes her mother espoused. She'd been on every civic and charitable board in the city, including the symphony, opera and theater guilds.

Meredith always thought it was to avoid her husband and daughter. As a child she'd thought it was because she was not pretty enough. So she'd decided to be smart and please her father. But she could never quite do that, either.

What had happened so many years ago? Why had her mother given up the child if she cared so much? What had happened to Meredith's sister?

Meredith couldn't imagine what it must cost a mother to give up a child. She loved children, though she'd resigned herself to never having any. Growing up as she had in a loveless atmosphere, she had never seen marriage as a desirable state. Most of her friends' parents were divorced. Love, if it existed, seemed to be a fleeting thing, a condition more of pain than joy.

She didn't let herself think of loneliness. She had friends, interests, a career now veering off in an entirely new direction that gave her life purpose. She loved good music. She enjoyed art. It was all she needed.

It was what her mother had had.

Obviously it had not been enough. The despair in her eyes had not come from the knowledge of impending death, but of regret for things not done. Meredith had recognized that.

She continued to hold her mother's hand, planning out her next moves.

She could not stop thinking of the woman who was her half sister. What kind of life had she had? And would she even want to be found?

Gage went over the files dropped on his new desk. Mostly cold cases, the rest reaching that stage.

He was surprised. There was a special office for cold cases.

But this might well be an effort to keep him away from the other homicide detectives. His immediate superior had been curt when Gage reported in, and it was obvious--at least to Gage--that he had been foisted upon the lieutenant. Gage wasn't surprised. He knew he was a pariah in the police department. He'd broken the blue wall of silence.

He remembered Lieutenant Bennett. The officer had been in robbery when Gage had testified against two of his men. It had been a black eye for him.

Gage wondered exactly how he had been forced on Bennett. But he 'was' an experienced homicide detective and had a good record in solving cases. That was probably why he was getting cold cases that were almost impossible to solve.

Still, he was so d.a.m.ned glad to be back on the streets. And it wouldn't be long before Bennett was forced to send him out on new cases. Budget cuts had sliced the homicide unit in half.

He sifted through the ten old files. New scientific techniques often turned up something that hadn't been obvious before. The FBI now maintained a nationwide bank of fingerprints. And DNA technology allowed the police to explore avenues that had been closed years ago.

Only one case really interested him: the murder of a socially prominent man fifteen years earlier.

He remembered the case. He had been a rookie then, and he had followed the investigation. The victim--Oliver Prescott--had been an officer in his father's bank.

The death had apparently devastated the father, who died two years later. The father's brother had a.s.sumed the position of chairman of the board, a position the son unquestionably would have had. A good enough motive.

The reports sounded a little odd to Gage. Though Oliver Prescott was a member of the city's most prominent Mardi Gras Krewe, no one really called him a close friend. And despite the publicity surrounding the case, its active stage had ended fairly rapidly. Too rapidly, Gage thought.

He'd wondered then, and wondered again, whether it was because of the public figures involved. Prescott's family was one of a tight group of city leaders, including city officials, prominent political donors, judges and attorneys. Any cop who pursued the case would probably open closets some wanted kept closed.

Gage didn't give a d.a.m.n about offending anyone. He'd made a career out of it.

He would poke around, see what could be stirred up. Perhaps it would take his mind away from Meredith Rawson. He was d.a.m.ned if he knew why she aroused such strong reactions in him. Although her blue eyes were striking, she was not his usual type. She wore her hair in a no-nonsense feathered haircut and her suits were severe. He liked long hair and casual clothes. He was a beer guy. He suspected she was a champagne woman.

One detective wandered over and peered down at the files. ”I got those last year,” he said. ”Apparently they give them to the new guy in the division.”

Gage raised an eyebrow. ”Or people they don't like. Did you have any luck?”

”Broke my a.s.s on the Cary case, but nothing. At least nothing I could take to the DA.”

”What about Prescott?”

”Couldn't find a d.a.m.n thing. No one would talk to me. Maybe you being from here...” He held out his hand. ”Name's Wagner. Glenn Wagner. They call me Wag.”

Gage took his hand and studied him. Wagner was a big man, probably about forty. He had the cautious eyes of a cop and his cheeks told Gage that the man probably drank too much. ”You might as well know I'm bad news around here,” Gage said.

”You also have a great rep in solving cases.”

”That's one reputation,” he said dryly. ”The other is why I have these cases rather than current ones. I expect the lieutenant intends to get rid of me as soon as possible.”

”Then he's a fool.”

Gage didn't answer. He was suspicious of such an obvious overture.

”Wanna grab a bite? I haven't had time for lunch.”

He was hungry, so why not? He also wanted to know why Wagner was making an effort toward a man most other cops steered clear of.

”Sure,” he said.

They went to a sandwich shop not far from the station and ordered at the counter before finding seats.

Once seated, Gage started his own interrogation. ”Why the welcome?”

The other man shrugged. ”I'm an outsider, too. It's a closed shop here.”

Gage could understand that. The department had always been insular, self-protective. Newcomers were regarded as threats to the old way of doing things.

But he was a loner. He didn't want pals, particularly in the police department. Years ago it had led him into compromises that still haunted him.

”The Prescott case,” he reminded Wagner. ”Who did you talk to? I didn't see any update in the file.”

”Nothing to update,” Wagner said. ”I found zero. Nada. But I can give you a list of people I talked to.”

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