Blood Memories

Wade started shaking. Christopher was Mark's partner. They'd been working under cover with some small-time cocaine dealers, trying to flush out big game.

"Who killed Christopher?" Redington asked suddenly.

Wade glared at him. "You know. You all know."

"Then tell me."

"Juan Merinchez and the rest of those spics."

Wade seemed to be lost inside Mark's mind.

"And Juan deserves to die, doesn't he?" Redington asked.

"He's already dead, you worthless piece of shit. Somebody had to handle it."

"If he's dead, then where's his body?"

"Eddy's Junkyard, in the trunk of a 'sixty-seven Fairlane."

Redington went to the door quickly and spoke to someone outside. Then Officer Taylor was taken away from the little room on the other side of the mirror.

"Wade," Redington said, "are you all right?"

Ugly pictures moving like worms crawled around the inside of Wade's skull. He couldn't stop shaking or get up off the floor. Redington yelled out, "Somebody get me a glass of water!"

A uniformed policewoman came in with a paper cup. Redington held it to Wade's mouth.

"Drink this."

Cold water splashed between Wade's teeth. "Why did you do that to me?"

"We had to know. To be honest, I don't think I believed what Van Tassel said about you."

He leaned down to help Wade get up.

"Don't touch me!"

Redington pulled back slightly, withdrawing his hand. "I know you're thinking that none of this is fair. Not to you. Not to Mark. But our psychologist did an extensive evaluation and found him fit and ready for duty. Mark's been running around with a badge and a gun for two weeks now. Is that fair? Is that right?"

Wade's head was beginning to clear. "No," he whispered. "He shouldn't have a gun. He's dangerous… and racist. But he doesn't care about very many people, not even his wife. He cared about Christopher."

"That doesn't give him the right to kill someone."

"Did you know he'd killed Merinchez?"

"I had a pretty good idea. We just needed a body. And you may just have given us that."

Less than an hour later, two officers found Juan Merinchez's body in the trunk of a 67 Fairlane exactly where Wade had seen it in Mark Taylor's mind. Wade left the precinct as quickly as possible, flew home, and never checked back to find out what happened to Taylor. He didn't want to know.

Long ago, Wade had learned to slowly examine his feelings. Letting them all in at once caused poor or quick judgments. The experience in Mark Taylor's mind never left him. Those thoughts had been the ugliest string of images he'd ever seen. They would be with him always. But then anger set in… and guilt. That psychologist must have been blind. What if Inspector Redington had flown Wade out to California a few days earlier, before Mark Taylor had killed Merinchez? Could the situation have been averted? Perhaps Merinchez would still be alive, and Mark wouldn't be facing murder charges. Or back even further, what if Wade had actually been working under cover with Mark and Christopher? Could he have picked up that Merinchez had grown wise and then helped avoid Christopher's death at all? What if?

The questions never left him for long. After receiving a master's degree in developmental psychology, he went on to a PhD in criminal psychology at the University of Colorado in Boulder. Shortly before graduation, he applied to twenty-seven police departments around the country for a position as staff psychologist. He was offered three, and finally accepted a place in Portland, Oregon, because the department seemed friendly but overworked and in need of someone like Wade.

Wade wished to be needed.

"We'll miss you," Dr. Van Tassel said, smiling, "but I think you've made the right choice. You thought I wanted you to be a professor or a scientist, didn't you?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"It's your gift, Wade. We can study it and write about it. But you've been searching for something else your whole life. Perhaps you've found it. Come home for Christmas."

With the first phase of his life over, Wade moved smoothly into the next. He found a loft-style apartment that would have cost him twice as much in Denver. The weather wasn't to his taste. It rained a lot. But the trees were green, the city was old but not too old, vogue but not too vogue. He thought he could be happy here.

The job was difficult at first. He was responsible for the files on forty-four men and women. In spite of his own innate ability, there was a mountain of red tape to be danced around every time someone gave him cause for concern, especially when Captain McNickel wanted the officer in question back on the street.

A rookie named Joe Tashet got stabbed in the side while running down a fleeing mugger. After healing up and receiving a clean bill of health from a medical doctor, he was handed over to the police psychologist.

"No way," Wade stated flatly to Captain McNickel in private. "He's terrified. It's all too new. Give him a little more time."