Every Fear Read Free Page A

cut the number to twenty-two. His presence made staffers feel like swimmers who’d spotted a dorsal fin.
    Spangler rarely spoke. He wore button-down shirts and never loosened his tie. His skin was wrapped tight around his head, accentuating his skull, making his eyes wide as if he were always pissed off. That was how he looked when he materialized at Jason’s desk. Statue still and mute. Not a word about firing Astrid as he stood there listening to the scanner transmissions.
    “All units, in Ballard. That report of a pedestrian hit-and-run is confirmed on scene. Mother with baby—”
    Spangler shot Jason a look.
    “Why are you still here?”
    “Because it’s breaking now.”
    “You should be out the door.”
    “I’m on it.”
    Collecting his notebook and his cell phone, Jason turned to Spangler, stood toe-to-toe with him, then nodded to the tearsheets displaying his old exclusive on Karen Harding.
    “Just to remind you, I’m not Astrid. I know how to do my job.”
    Spangler eyeballed him.
    “Go out and prove it then. This paper needs to kick some ass.”
    Jason held his fire long enough to let Spangler know he didn’t fear him, he’d faced much worse and had the scars to prove it.
    “Seventy-six, dispatch.”
    “Seventy-six.”
    Breathless officers were shouting over wailing sirens.
    “Dispatch, from paramedics, the victim’s injuries are life-threatening! It’s real bad! She might not make it to hospital! Better alert Homicide!”

3
    S itting in an unmarked Chevrolet Malibu, Seattle Homicide Detective Grace Garner sipped raspberry tea from a commuter cup bearing the slogan, “Vengeance is mine, like this mug.”
    A present from her all-male squad.
    It followed the real gift they’d given her the first day she’d joined the unit. The moment she’d stepped into the enclave of testosterone, she was escorted to a fullscale skeletal replica of a shooting victim.
    “Detective Garner”—a grizzled bull exchanged conspiratorial glances with the rest of the squad—“tell us how we’ve determined its gender to be female.” She studied the plastic bones amid sniggering, outwaiting the old cop until he provided the answer. “Because her head’s got a hole in it,” he said.
    Grace smiled politely, ignoring the laughter. When it faded she said, “Pelvic opening’s too narrow.”
    “Whaddya mean?”
    “Your victim here’s a male. With a hole in his head. ”
    The only person laughing now was the sergeant, Stan Boulder. He’d been watching from the back of the room.
    Grinning at the memory, Grace looked at the parade of toddlers holding on to a rope near the daycare, next to the apartment where she was staking out a possible witness in a cold case.
    The kids were adorable.
    Would she ever have one? Not likely. And why not? Because she was alone, that’s why. This was the life she’d made. Or, the one she’d let happen to her since that day.
    Although she rarely admitted it, she traced her solitude to the day Roger Briscoe wore an eerie expression, a kind of know-it-all sneer, as he strode into Mr. Lorten’s English class. Mr. Lorten had written two words on the blackboard— Joseph Conrad —looked at his students, and said, “Today, we’ll start on Heart of Darkness, Conrad’s master—”
    A firecracker pop. Mr. Lorten’s head snapped. He fell to the floor with Roger Briscoe standing over him, gripping the handgun he’d taken from the hiding spot in his mother’s china cabinet—behind the gravy boat, next to the Jack Daniels.
    “Not today, Lorten.” Roger Briscoe then turned and pointed the gun at his classmates. “Today, you’re going to learn about my pain. Pay attention, maggots. There will be a test.”
    There were screams.
    Desks scraped and toppled in the stampede to the door. Someone pulled the fire alarm. Deafening ringing and a second shot. “Nobody move!” Roger Briscoe yelled, “Today, I’m God!”
    Girls sobbed, boys cursed. Everyone cowered. Butnot Grace Garner. Calm