Blood Pact

study it?”

    "No, I'm sorry, but it wasn't.”

    "I'd like to see the file.”

    Brow furrowed, Dr. Friedman studied the plain brown folder without really seeing it. Technically, the file was confidential, but Marjory Nelson was dead and beyond caring. Her daughter, however, was alive, and if the contents of the file could help to bring healing out of dangerously strong denial, then confidentiality be damned. And it wasn't as if the file contained anything she hadn't already divulged during the last hour's interrogation, details had been lifted out of her memory with a surgical precision both frightening and impressive. Reaching a decision she pushed the folder across the desk and asked, "If there's anything else I can do?”

    "Thank you, Doctor." Vicki slid the file into her purse and stood. "I'll let you know.”

    As that hadn't been exactly what she had in mind, she tried again. "Have you spoken to anyone about your loss?”

    "My loss?" Vicki smiled tightly. "I'm speaking to everyone about it." She nodded, more a dismissal than a farewell, and left the office.

    Loss, Dr. Friedman decided, as the door swung shut, had been an unfortunate choice of words.

    She almost had it. Almost managed to grab onto memory. There was something she had to do. Needed to do.

    * * *
    "Cathy. She made a noise.”

    "What kind of a noise? Tissue stretching? Joints cracking, what?”

    "A vocal noise.”

    Catherine sighed. "Donald . . .”

    "No. Really." He backed away, still holding the sweatshirt he'd been about to pull over electronically raised arms. "It was a kind of moan.”

    "Nonsense." Catherine took the shirt out of his hands and gently tugged it down into place. "It was probably just escaping air.
    You're too rough.”

    "Yeah, and I know the difference between a belch and a moan." Cheeks pale, he crossed to his desk and dropped into the chair, fingers shredding the wrapper off a mint. "I'm going to start running today's biopsies. You can finish dressing Ken and Barbie.”

    "Your mother was a pretty everyday sort of person." Mrs. Shaw smiled sadly over the edge of her coffee mug. "You were probably the most exotic thing in her life.”

    Vicki let the sympathy wash past her, waves over a rock, and pushed at her glasses. "You're certain she wasn't involved in any unusual activities over the last few months?”

    "Oh, I'm certain. She would've told me about it if she had been. We talked about everything, your mother and I.”

    "You knew about the heart condition.”

    "Of course. Oh." Flustered, the older woman cast about for a way to erase her last words. "Uh, more coffee?”

    "No. Thank you." Vicki set what had been her mother's cup down on what had been her mother's desk, then reached over and gently laid her academy graduation portrait facedown.

    ”An investigation must not become personal.” The voice of a cadet instructor echoed in her head. "Emotions camouflage fact and you can charge right past the one bit of evidence you need to break the case.”

    "Actually, if anything, well, unusual was going on with your mother, Dr. Burke might know." Mrs. Shaw set her own mug down and leaned forward helpfully. "When she found out about the heart condition, she convinced your mother to have a whole lot of tests done.”

    "What kind of tests?”

    "I don't know. I don't think your mother . . .”

    Stop saying that! Your mother! Your mother! She had a name.

    ". . . knew.”

    "Is Dr. Burke available?”

    "Not this afternoon, I'm afraid. She's in a departmental meeting right now, but I'm sure she'll be able to make time for you tomorrow morning.”

    "Thank you." Moving carefully, Vicki stood. "I'll be back." Lips twisted in a humorless smile. She felt more like Charlie Brown than Arnold Schwarzenegger.

    "Goddamn, look at the time. It's almost 8:30 in the p.m. No wonder I'm so hungry.”

    Catherine carefully set the petri dish in the incubation chamber. "Hungry? I don't see why, you've been eating sugar all day.”

    "Cathy. Cathy. Cathy. And you a scientist. Sugar stimulates hunger, it doesn't satisfy it.”

    Pale brows drew in. "I don't think that's exactly right.”

    Donald shrugged into his jacket. "Who cares. Let's go for pizza.”

    "I still have work to do.”

    " I still have work to do. But I doubt I'll be capable of working to my full potential if all I can think of is my stomach. And," he crossed the room and punched her on the shoulder, brows waggling, "I'm sure I heard your tum demanding attention