‘You know the rules.’

The Adder’s head snapped up. ‘But it wasn’t my fault!’

‘Fault?’ The Doctor laughed. ‘What does that matter? Fault? Was it William’s fault?’

The Adder said nothing, and he began to shake all over.

‘No,’ he said softly. ‘No,’ he said again.

And he did as he was told. He followed the rules. He succumbed.

He went to the well.

Thirteen

‘We need to do more research on Mandy,’ Striker said.

It was one of his own personal rules. Know the victim. This was crucial. And to a point, he already did. He had known Mandy years back when she had attended the same school events as Courtney, and he had dealt with her a few times just last year when he had filled in for Bernard Hamilton.

Hamilton worked in the mental health car – which was essentially a mobile unit, composed of one officer and one social worker, who partnered up to help the mentally ill people of the Downtown East Side.

All the past connections helped, but they weren’t enough. Striker wanted to know everything about the girl.

Especially her recent history.

Felicia buckled up her seat belt as Striker pulled out on the main road and headed for the downtown core. ‘I’ll go through the CAD calls,’ she said. ‘See what else was going on in that area when Mandy’s call came in.’

Striker nodded in agreement.

CAD was the Computer Assisted Dispatch system that was used whenever 911 calls and general requests from the public were made. It was documented every time a patrol member took a call. Maybe they could find some connections there.

God knows, it was as good a place as any to start.

They headed for headquarters. While en route, Felicia grumbled about the day never ending. Striker took a quick look at her. Her eyes appeared heavy and were underlined. Seeing that, he took a detour through the Starbucks drive-thru on Terminal for some much-needed caffeine. He grabbed himself a tall Americano, black, and a protein bar.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘Eggnog latte. With a slice of raspberry loaf with lemon-cream-cheese icing.’

‘Why don’t you get something decadent for a change?’

‘I’m low on carbs and sugar and caffeine, Jacob, now is not the time. And after that little stunt you pulled at the lab, this treat is all on you.’

He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

When the coffees and food came, Striker paid for them and handed the cardboard tray to Felicia. Then he headed for 312 Main Street. Headquarters.

Destination: Homicide.

It was less than a mile away.

A half-hour later, Striker sat back in his office chair and rubbed his eyes. They were dry and grainy. How could they not be? The computer screen assigned to his desk was an outdated piece of junk. The monitor was on the fritz – the colours all seemed a tint or two off – and it was not even a widescreen.

He glanced over at Felicia. She had a better chair, one made from leather and high-backed, and also a brand-new widescreen monitor. A twenty-four incher. And newer technology. LED. Striker looked at it.

‘How the hell d’you ever get that anyway?’ he asked. ‘I’ve had a requisition order in for six months.’

‘Connections,’ was all she said, and went back to her reading.

Striker said nothing. He just stretched his hands high above him and felt his back crack. He stared at the window. Outside, everything was black and deep and cold.

He was glad to be inside the office.

His thoughts turned to Courtney, and he made a call home and hit the Speakerphone button so he could talk while he worked. The phone rang six times before the answering machine picked up. As usual Courtney had changed the voice message again, like she did every week:

‘If you like it then you better . . . leave a message,’ she sang.

The words were familiar, but Striker couldn’t place them. Some song on the radio, he guessed. It usually was.

‘It’s Dad,’ he said. ‘Pick up.’

When Courtney didn’t answer, he repeated himself, then finally gave up. He hit the End button and disconnected the call.

Felicia swivelled around in her chair. ‘“Single Ladies”,’ she said.

‘Huh?’

‘The song on the machine. It’s “The Single Ladies”. By Beyoncé.’

Striker just nodded. ‘Sure.’

She stared him down. ‘You have no clue, do you?’

‘Sure I do. Beyoncé – lead singer from Guns N’ Roses.’

Felicia laughed out loud, and Striker smiled weakly back at her.

‘My eyes are turning to sand,’ he said.

She tore off a piece of her raspberry loaf and stuffed it in his mouth. ‘You at least getting anything?’

‘Besides a headache? No, not really.’ He swallowed the loaf and glanced back at the computer screen where he had opened four different pages from PRIME.

PRIME was the Police Records Information Management Environment – a huge, widespread database that contained everything from basic police reports to hidden intelligence files. It was but one of a dozen different databases the cops used.

All of which were essential.

Striker spoke again. ‘There’s a ton of stuff here on Mandy. File after file, and most of it is Mental Health Act. She was a very sick person. Listed EDP everywhere.’

EDP – Emotionally Disturbed Person.

‘And then there’s a dozen more street checks,’ he continued. ‘She was run by Patrol tons of times, just for acting strange. Then there’s the rest of the standard calls – a lot of Disturbances and Suspicious Circumstance incidents, most of which were because she was off her meds again. Acting all loopy. She’s also done a dozen different voluntary transports to the psych ward at St Paul’s. So she was at least cognitively aware that she was having problems.’

Felicia glanced at the list of files and frowned. ‘Hey, you authored some of these reports.’

Striker nodded. He told her about the times he had replaced Bernard Hamilton in the mental health car, and also about how he knew the girl from before. From when Mandy had attended the same school as Courtney.

‘Wow. So she went from Dunbar to Ditchville,’ Felicia said. ‘The poor kid. Did she have any family?’

Striker threw his pen on the blotter. ‘Her mother died of cancer a few years back. As for her father, he’s in jail.’

‘Jail? What for?’

Striker didn’t want to get into it, but he explained anyway: ‘After Mandy’s mother died, when she was still living in Dunbar, she was going to the same school as Courtney. St Patrick’s High. They knew each other.’

‘How?’ Felicia asked.

Striker gave her a cross look. ‘From hanging out and smoking outside the school fence – I could have killed Courtney when I caught her.’

Felicia grinned at that.

‘Anyhow,’ Striker continued, ‘that was when Mandy’s depression really deepened. I must have picked her up a half-dozen times when she’d run off. And every time, I took her back to her father and told her she had to keep taking her meds. It was a never-ending cycle.’

Felicia shook her head. ‘So?’

‘So, what I didn’t know at the time was that Mandy’s father was abusing her. Sexually. Which was one of the reasons for her growing depression, why she kept taking off all the time.’ He shook his head as he relived the moments. ‘Every time I picked her up, I was taking her right back to the monster. I’ll never forgive myself for that.’

‘She never told you?’

‘No, but I should have seen it. There had to be some signs. There had to be something. I was so preoccupied with Amanda’s depression problems at the time, I never saw it . . .’

‘It was a bad time for you, Jacob.’

‘Bad for her, too.’ He pushed the keyboard away and rubbed his eyes. ‘Either way, Mandy’s father was caught, but by that point in time the damage had been done. Mandy was put under government care for a bit, but you know how it is. She bounced around a lot, and to be honest, I lost track. If it weren’t for the problems we were having with Amanda, I would have taken the kid in . . . Ah fuck, I should have taken her in!’