Karen Rose - I’m Watching You

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A dark secret keeps Chicago assistant state's attorney Kristen Mayhew as tightly wound as the springy red curls she works to pin down. Meals at the nearby diner, sleepless nights renovating her empty house and days in court where the bad guy more often than not doesn't face justice make up her life-until she finds the bodies of three criminals she failed to convict in the trunk of her car. Each dead body comes accompanied by a sinister letter, the writer informing "Dearest Kristen" that justice has been done on her behalf. An unusual twist for a suspense novel, to be sure, but because the murderer preys on rapists, gang members and pedophiles, Rose'strademark tentacles of fear never fully extend (as they did in her earlier books, Don't Tell and Have You Seen Her). Instead, this book's greatest strength lies in the romance between Kristen and handsome detective Abe Reagan, who's still reeling from the death of his wife. Abundant side characters, including Abe's entire jovial clan, clutter the plot and diminish the story's tension, especially when minor players suddenly step forward to play major roles. But readers will appreciate Rose's sensitive portrayal of Kristen's hesitancy to trust and Abe's gentle perseverance in uncoiling the vibrant woman within.

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Soon she’d be able to afford her own silk. Soon she’d be able to afford anything she wanted. Because soon it would be her face, her voice America trusted for its news. She paced her small living room restlessly. She needed a story. So far she’d done pretty well shadowing relentless pursuer of evil and overachieving Girl Scout, ASA Kristen Mayhew. Her gut told her that if it wasn’t broke, don’t fix it. She tapped a French-manicured nail on her silk sleeve, wondering what was first up on Kristen’s agenda tomorrow.

Thursday, February 19,

12:30 a.m.

The computer monitor glowed in the darkness of the room. The Internet had made the world a very small place indeed. The name he’d drawn from the fishbowl resided on Chicago ’s North Shore, in one of the city’s most affluent communities.

He wouldn’t be able to get to Number Seven where he lived or worked, he thought. He’d need to draw him out, to lead him to the place he’d chosen for just such a purpose.

He glanced at the stack of envelopes, gleaming an unnatural white in the streetlight that filtered through the curtains. But first he had some work to do.

Chapter Five

Thursday, February 19,

6:30 a.m.

CSU had the site prepped and ready when Reagan pulled his SUV up to the Arboretum. Inside the building, tropical plants flowered. Outside, what little grass could be seen was brown and shriveled. A light rain- fell. Jack had erected a tarp beyond the parking lot, over a narrow span of grass in the shadow of the El tracks above. CSU must have found something.

Bracing herself against the cold, Kristen slid down from the high seat of the SUV and picked her way across the icy sludge in her sensible shoes, Reagan’s big body beside her. He slowed his pace to match hers and she was grateful, for he acted as a windbreak. He’d pulled up to her house at one minute ‘till six this morning, a bag of bagels and lox on the front passenger’s seat of his SUV. So she was treated to yet another ethnic delicacy and found she liked the lox nearly as well as the gyro the night before.

Jack was pacing outside the yellow tape when they approached, his face grim. „Come and see,“ was all he said. One of Jack’s men knelt, shining a flashlight at the ground.

No, not the ground. What the light illuminated was not snow-covered dirt. Horrified, Kristen could only stare as her blood ran cold. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It just didn’t fit .

„I’ll be damned,“ Abe muttered under his breath. „Who are Sylvia Whitman, Janet Briggs, and Eileen Dorsey?“

„Ramey’s three rape victims,“ Kristen heard herself reply, still staring at the beam of the flashlight. At the marble marker bearing the three names. And dates.

It was a grave marker.

Her eyes jumped up to meet Reagan’s. „The dates are their birth dates to the day of their assault. He…“ She swallowed back bile.

Reagan shook his head. „It doesn’t make sense.“

Mia jogged up behind them, her breath turning to fog in the air. „What doesn’t make sense?“ Then a quiet, „Oh, God.“

Kristen shook herself. „You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. Besides, if something had happened to even one of these three women, I’d have been informed.“ By one of their irate boyfriends or husbands who had so bitterly blamed her for dragging their women through the hell of testifying only to suffer again when Ramey was acquitted. She still felt the sting of their anger, of the accusations she hadn’t tried to defend. She pushed back the guilt and stared at the marker at her feet. „It’s for remembrance,“ she said. „For the victims.“

Abe nodded to Jack. „Let’s start digging. Be careful with the marker. The dirt under it might have retained some trace evidence. Are there markers at the other sites?“

„I’ll find out“ Jack gestured them back, out of the way of the team. „This is going to take a little while. The ground is pretty frozen.“

They backed up, still standing under the tarp which provided shelter from the light rain. And they watched as the team carefully dug.

„I made a list of the victims, their families, anyone associated with the three cases,“ Kristen said as a shovelful of frozen earth landed in the growing mound close to her feet.

„Another bad night?“ Mia murmured, her eyes trained on the diggers.

„You could say that.“ She’d tried to go to sleep, but visions of him staring in her window kept her far too tense to sleep. Every creak and whine of her old house just made it worse. Finally, she’d given up. „I also ran a list of all the defendants I unsuccessfully prosecuted and separated them out by the ones who got off on technicalities versus legitimate defenses.“

„How many were there?“ Reagan asked.

„I had to replace my printer cartridge midway through,“ Kristen answered dryly. „Did wonders for my professional self-esteem.“

„So how many could you have won?“ Reagan asked, his tone practical. She’d wondered the same thing herself and had been compulsive enough to do the math. „Twenty-five percent, maybe,“ she said honestly.

„Twenty-five percent with the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight.“ Reagan made a humming sound in his throat.

„That means on seventy-five percent you wouldn’t have changed a thing. That sounds pretty significant to me.“

Her first instinct was to take his words as lightly as he’d likely meant them. But she glanced up, found his blue eyes trained on her face, and knew he’d been quite serious. Awkward pleasure warred with a nagging feeling of deja vu. And because dealing with the deja vu was far less uncomfortable than accepting his praise, she focused on his face with a frown. „I know we’ve met. Last night you said my hair was up. What did you mean?“

His mouth opened, but his first words were drowned out by Jack’s shout.

„We’ve got something. Come and see.“

Reagan and Mia lurched forward. Kristen’s approach was a little more tentative, hindered by her skirt even in her sensible shoes. She rounded the pile of dirt and gingerly stepped to the edge of the three-foot-deep hole. And swallowed hard.

He was right , was her first thought. We’re lucky it’s winter . Had it been summer, the flesh would have been so decomposed it would have been unrecognizable. But being winter in Chicago, the body was fairly well preserved. Enough that she could provide a positive ID.

„It’s him. Anthony Ramey.“ Her voice was shaky, but she doubted anyone would fault her for it. Jack’s men wore identical grimaces that said they’d rather be fingerprinting anything anywhere than be here, in the hole with a decomposing body. Mia pressed a handkerchief to her face and walked around the hole to get a view from a different angle.

„Most of him, anyway,“ Mia said through the handkerchief. „Hell, Kristen, your humble servant sure did a job on Ramey. Nothing like a little vigilante justice with a biblical twist.“

It was true. Nude and rotting, the body of Anthony Ramey had been laid to rest minus his pelvic region. In its place was about a baseball-sized expanse of nothing.

„Eye for an eye,“ Kristen murmured, wishing to high heaven she’d brought along a handkerchief of her own. Even with the benefit of Nature’s freezer, the body’s odor was enough to turn her stomach and suddenly she felt like cursing Reagan’s kind breakfast gesture. Bagels and lox threatened to gag her.

„Shotgun?“ Reagan said to Mia, and she nodded.

„Probably.“ Mia crouched to get a closer look. „Definitely not the same gun that brought him down. Probably done after he was dead. The Polaroids don’t show any pelvic damage.“

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