Page 5 of The Drowned Woman
“His neighbor is at the door, trying to help calm him down,” Luka corrected. “Harper’s on scene, says there’s no immediate threat.”
“Not what my boys are telling me. Says Orly is tearing the place up, totally unhinged.”
“Orly?” Leah asked.
“Walt Orly.” Luka nodded to the dead woman. “Husband to Trudy. Sixty-one years old. The building manager says they’ve been married almost forty years.” He gestured to a man Leah hadn’t noticed before, he’d been standing so quietly at the far corner of the reception desk, partially hidden by a large potted palm. He wore jeans and a khaki shirt with the name “Cliff” embroidered over his left chest pocket. “Mr. Vogel, can you tell Dr. Wright what you told me? About Mr. Orly’s health?”
The man shuffled forward, head down, a sheaf of lanky dark hair falling into his face. He smelled of floor wax and machine oil stained his fingernails. When he finally looked up, not meeting anyone’s gaze, Leah realized he was in his late forties even though his posture was more like a shy teenager’s.
“Not sure, of the exact—” He picked at his cuticles. “I mean, I know it’s not Alzheimer’s. Walt isn’t that old, that’s for sure. And he wasn’t sick, not that I could see, not until sometime last year, at least.” He cleared his throat, looked to McKinley first and then to Luka, avoiding Leah entirely. “When Walt saw Trudy’s body, he just lost it. Screaming for her to come back. Me and Miss Risa tried to calm him down, but he won’t come out of his apartment, won’t talk to no one but her—”
“Making him a risk to himself and others,” McKinley put in, gesturing with his rifle for emphasis.
“Possiblerisk,” Luka corrected him, then turned to Leah. “Harper reports no obvious weapons and the neighbor, a Risa Saliba, seems to be making progress in calming him down. Which is why I’ve asked McKinley’s men to switch to nonlethal options.”
Leah’s head buzzed as she considered all the parameters—this was nothing like subduing a patient in the ER. “If he’s only wrecking his own apartment, why intervene at all?”
“He could harm himself and we have a duty of care to him and his neighbors. Plus, we need him out of the apartment and able to talk to us,” Luka answered even as McKinley made a noise of disdain. “As soon as possible.” His tone gave her the subtext she’d been missing—Luka was afraid the SWAT team might rush in and kill Walt if Leah couldn’t help quiet him down and get him to cooperate with Luka’s team.
“The victim could’ve been pushed or thrown,” McKinley said. “The husband’s a suspect in a potential homicide.”
“Or a witness,” Luka corrected. “Either way, we need to talk to him.”
“Let me at least evaluate the man before you take action.” Leah aimed this at McKinley. Situations like this were the whole reason they’d gotten the Department of Justice grant to bring her on board with the Crisis Intervention Center; she just hadn’t expected to be coming into such a complicated encounter on her first day in the field. No one had even had a chance yet to define her role other than acting as “an advocate” for victims, witnesses, and people taken into police custody. She’d expected she’d be interviewing distraught family members—but not one who had a sniper’s scope focused on him.
Leah had to take two deep breaths to quiet her nerves, glancing up past the steps that circled the atrium, her gaze climbing all the way to the top where a skylight was shadowed by rain clouds. Luka was here; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. In the month since Ian’s death and the violent aftermath that followed, she’d grown to trust the detective. Since their homes were only a few miles apart, they helped each other out with childcare duties, and, although most of their discussions centered on Emily and Nate, Leah considered Luka a friend. After Ian’s death she’d been surprised to realize how few friends she really had. Before, her life had centered on work and family. “What floor?”
“The top.” Luka turned to the other detective. “Krichek, you stay here. Mr. Vogel, could you give Detective Krichek any footage from your security cameras?”
“Don’t have any. That camera’s been busted for over a year.”
“Okay, then. Please stay close in case we need more information from you.”
“I’d like to go up, see if Miss Risa is all right.”
Luka’s tone turned firm. “Please stay here. Krichek, you coordinate with McKinley.” Given the scowl he threw the younger detective, Leah translated this as: stop the SWAT team from rushing in and killing anyone. Then Luka turned back to Leah. “Let’s go.”
He led the way around the edge of the foyer to an elevator with embossed brass doors. The Falconer was a bit frayed around the edges, but Leah could imagine that once upon a time it’d been a gleaming masterpiece of pre-war architecture. She couldn’t help but think of Ian, who would have loved to explore it. But thinking of Ian always carried with it a constant echo of memories. Of her loss. Of his death. Of his blood…
“Now remember,” Luka said as Leah struggled to focus on his words. “Your job is to simply talk to him, try to assess his volatility and what next steps we need to take to get him safely out of the apartment. He might seem like an old man dealing with the shock of his wife’s death, but he’s a suspect too. I can’t guarantee he’s not a threat.” The elevator stopped at the top floor and the doors slid open. Leah swallowed, forcing away thoughts of Ian.
Luka paused on the landing, facing her. Two SWAT guys waited a few feet away—their escorts. “Leah. We’ll be watching the whole time—we won’t let anything happen to you.” He drew in a breath. “But if you’re uncomfortable, we can go another route. Pilot program and grant money be damned. You don’t have to do this.”
But she did. She couldn’t risk Walt Orly being harmed unnecessarily. She’d had the training, she handled volatile patients in the ER all the time. This was no different—except for the men with guns surrounding them. Leah glanced around the landing. Two shopping bags had been abandoned between the atrium’s railing and an open apartment door that was guarded by two more SWAT men. A set of keys hung from the outside lock, a bright pink smiley face dangling alongside them. You could never lose your keys with that keychain, she thought.
In the open doorway stood Naomi Harper, another member of Luka’s team, along with a woman in her early thirties, barefoot and dressed in leggings and a baggy Hard Rock Café sweatshirt, leaning heavily on a wheeled walker angled so she could speak to whoever was inside the apartment. Risa, the neighbor Luka had mentioned. Leah was surprised to see someone so young using a walker. She didn’t see any signs of an injury. Then she noticed the trembling in Risa’s hands. Maybe a neurologic condition? Beyond Risa, inside the apartment, a man’s form moved in and out of sight.
Risa spoke to Walt in a soft, soothing voice, keeping it low. It was a good approach, but as soon as Walt paused in his rampage to listen, he’d quickly shake his head, dismissing her words, more agitated than before.
Leah craned her head over the landing railing, looked down to where Maggie’s bright blue hair marked the bottom. Trudy’s body had been covered with a sterile shroud and Maggie and her team were gently bundling her into a body bag for transport.
Leah closed her eyes for a moment. She could hear Walt sobbing; the primal noises echoed deep inside her, reminding her of how she felt when she’d found Ian’s lifeless body and crawled through his blood, desperate to reach Emily. She remembered thinking this wasn’t real, this wasn’t her life, this wasn’t happening.
“Where’s Trudy? What have you done with my Trudy?” Walt Orly raged. He was tall with a barrel-chest and wide shoulders, shoving furniture out of his way as he stalked through the living room—the only part of the apartment Leah could see past the narrow hallway that formed the foyer. He wore a baggy sweater that hung on him and striped pajamas.
As Walt continued his rampage, Risa turned and Luka beckoned her over to join them. “Risa Saliba? I’m Detective Sergeant Luka Jericho and this is Dr. Leah Wright.”
“A doctor?” Risa scrutinized Leah.
