Nobody that nice could make it out in the open, exposed. They would be eaten alive by the business, torn apart by the atrocities of the crimes, taken advantage of the Marcus Slasinsky’s and Craig Sloan’s of the world. People like whoever this new sick bastard was with a fetish for organic lipstick.
“Hi,” he said hesitantly, looking first to Chase for support. She nodded encouragingly.
“Come on in,” she instructed. “This is FBI Agent Jeremy Stitts—you know everyone else.”
Dunbar nodded to the federal agent.
“Officer Robert Dunbar,” he said, offering his hand.
“And of course you know Drake.”
Dunbar nodded at him.
“Welcome back.”
Drake frowned.
Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m not back…
“I’m not back. I’m here as a… what’d you call it, Chase?”
Chase gave him a queer look.
“Special Consultant,” she said, before facing the rest of the room. “I’ve brought both Agent Stitts and Drake on board based on their experience with serial killers—and the need to wrap this thing up quickly. Even though there are only two bodies, I think we can all agree that this isn’t the act of someone who is going to stop anytime soon. And now that you grinders have gotten acquainted, maybe we can do away with the introductions and start putting out some theories? Ideas, anyone?”
Dunbar strode forward and put a folder on the table in front of Chase.
“That’s where I can help, I think.”
Chase opened the folder and started to read. Drake watched as her frown deepened.
When she was done, she spun the folder around and passed it to Drake first.
“Melissa Green, 29, and Tanya Farthing, 31,” Chase said grimly. She started scribbling on pieces of paper, then put the names and ages on the board beneath the appropriate images.
Drake scanned the file that Dunbar had provided.
“Did they know each other?” Agent Stitts asked.
Drake shook his head.
“Doesn’t look like it. Melissa was a young mother of two, Tanya was a Law Student at NYU Law. Lived on opposite sides of town, and opposite sides of the social spectrum.”
He continued to read.
“Melissa went missing about a week ago, while Tanya didn’t show up to class four days ago.”
Silence fell over the group.
“I’m glad you brought me in,” Agent Stitts said at last. “Because you’re right, Drake. This isn’t going to be the last murder.”
Chapter 12
Drake left 62nd precinct with more on his mind than he had expected for a lazy Tuesday afternoon. And yet most of his mental acuity wasn’t exhausted on the two dead girls, but focused on something else: the strange e-reader loaded with Red Smile, which held an odd similarity to the murders in the barn.
But before he relinquished the device to Chase and Agent Stitts, he felt an urge to read more, and to learn about the whole eBook business. In his estimation, it was best if he exercised some good ol’ fashioned police work first, before he sent the FBI off on some half-baked tangent.
After all, this approach had saved Suzan Cuthbert’s life.
As he drove back to Triple D, Drake’s mind drifted to Suzan, to the night when he had pulled her smoldering body out of the burning building. And as had become habit when his thoughts turned to that night, his fingers started to rub the pink scar tissue on his cheek.
After leaving the hospital to deal with a pressing domestic violence issue, he had eventually made his way back to see Suzan. He hadn’t wanted her to know that he was there—hadn’t expected her to see him, given the hypobaric chamber that she was housed in—but she had.
And her reaction was completely unexpected. Recalling the way she had screamed at him when he had arrived at her house that day to speak to Jasmine, he thought that maybe she would yell at him through her oxygen mask, demand that he get the hell out. After all, Suzan couldn’t have known that he was the one that had saved her; she was unconscious and half-dead from smoke inhalation when he had pulled her out.
Instead of anger, Drake had seen sadness in her eyes. A deep, brooding anguish that seemed to transform her entire face.
The only problem was, Drake didn’t know if the sadness was directed at him, or if she simply harbored it for herself.
Drake reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek, and then his hand snaked its way into his pocket and fondled the finger bone within.
I’ll find out who did this to you, Clay. I’ll find out who killed you—for Suzan, for Jasmine, and most of all for me.
But first he had another crime to solve, and as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t help but think that Agent Stitts was correct.
Their killer would strike again. It was only a matter of time.
Drake pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall that housed Triple D, noting with a frown that it hadn’t been plowed yet. The snow was coming down heavier now, and even though it didn’t feel that cold—it had to still be in the thirties—it was only a matter of time before the snow turned to ice. And given their most common clientele—octogenarian’s courtesy of Ken Smith—they had to make sure that the next lawsuits they filed weren’t against Triple D.
Drake opened the door, knocked the snow from his boots on the stupid Jump to Conclusions mat, then tried the light.
It didn’t go on.
“Fuck,” he grumbled. “Screech? You still here?”
There was no answer. It was dark inside Triple D despite being midday, and Drake was forced to turn on his cell phone to be able to navigate his way. With a dissatisfied grunt, he flicked the light a few more times, once again admonishing himself for not moving before winter hit. He had originally leased the place for a year, and now, nine months in, he knew that it would be impossible to get out of their lease. Subletting in the dead of winter? Fat chance. And while the influx of capital from Mrs. Armatridge was plenty sufficient, he was reluctant to just throw it away.
Things could change, could become lean very quickly, he knew.
“Screech?”
To his surprise, his partner seemed to have finally left the confines of the office.
He tried the light switch a final time and was about to remove his coat when he spotted something that caused him to freeze.
The door to his office was open. He never left it open, and Screech had been given explicit instructions to make sure that it was closed in the event he ever left Triple D.
“Anyone here?” he said, slipping a hand under his armpit out of habit.
It had been a long time since he had carried a gun, especially one in the armpit holster, but old habits died hard. And as a PI, he wasn’t permitted to carry. He wondered briefly if Chase could approve a handgun based on his ‘Special Consultant’ status, then swept the thoughts away—it was too late for that now.
That didn’t mean that he didn’t have a gun—he did, of course—but he just didn’t have it on him.
It was in his office.
“Anyone?”
He moved silently across the front entrance, passing the vacant maroon chairs against the wall. With his eyes locked on the door to his office, he walked to the reception desk and reached below the cheap plasterboard material. His searching fingers found the baseball bat strapped beneath and tried to pull it free without making a noise.
He winced as the Velcro that Screech had used to hold it in place tore away, and he silently cursed the man.
It sounded like someone with incredible dry mouth eating a Dorito inside a vacuum.
And yet there was still no movement from the office, despite the sound.
Imbued by confidence that only the heft of an aluminum Louisville Slugger could afford, Drake strode forward. When he reached the partially open door to his office, however, a sudden sense of dread overcame him.
His first instinct was that he would find Dr. Kildare sitting inside, waiting to confront him a
bout the other night, threatening to report him to Ken Smith.
But he quickly vanquished this notion.
It didn’t make sense.
The doctor who, aside from his fidelity transgressions, was morally perfect broke into his office? To confront him? To what end?
No, it had to be something else.
Someone else.
The real Skeleton King, perhaps.
A flash of anger suddenly washed over him as he pictured Clay’s face, blood and spit clinging to his beard as he drew his final breath.
Drake used his free arm to throw the door wide and then lunged forward, leading with the bat.
“Whoever the fuck—” he stopped short. “You? What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter 13
Colin Elliot left the writer’s group with an unexpected spring in his step. He had gone into the endeavor the way he always did: fearing that he was wasting his time, that he would be better off just writing, while at the same time scared of doing just that. Finishing another novel would mean publishing it, and publishing it meant that he was opening himself up to the reviews of others. Sure, his pen name allowed him some insulation from public scorn, but it still hurt him deeply when someone wrote something negative about one of his books.
His books, after all, were his babies.
“You need to extricate yourself from your work,” an old tutor had once told him. But this was in direct contradiction to what he had just instructed the writer’s group: write what you know, write about your experiences, write about your life.
It wasn’t quite three yet, but he was in such a good mood that he thought he would pick the girls up early from school and take them for ice cream before going home. Juliette and Colby typically finished at three, then had after school program until five.
Colin was still smiling when he pulled up to Hockley Elementary school. And the smile remained as he walked up to the chubby woman manning the desk just inside the school doors.
Shivering slightly as he approached, he absently dusted snow from the shoulders of his coat.
“It’s getting cold out there,” he remarked.
The woman looked up at him and grinned, her cheeks forming apples.
“Yeah, and it’s only going to get colder.” The woman replied, squinting as she spoke. “You are… Mr…”
“Elliot,” Colin confirmed.
“Yes of course; Juliette and Colby’s father. They’ll be happy to see you. Mrs. Ross mentioned that they both fell asleep during math today.”
As she reached over with a chubby hand for a walkie on the desk, Colin felt his smile falter.
Did they hear us fighting the other night? Did we keep them awake?
He knew that his girls, Colby in particular, was a very light sleeper. It was possible—no, it was likely—that she had heard their fighting and had stayed up listening.
He hoped to god she hadn’t, but knew deep down that this was just wishful thinking.
The woman at the desk grunted, and her splayed fingers brushed up against the walkie, but failed to grab hold.
Colin grasped it and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “The cafeteria food seems to be taking its toll.” Her thick thumb pressed the side of the walkie-talkie. “Mrs. Ross? Can you please send Juliette and Colby Elliot to the front? Their father is here to pick them up.”
She let go of the button and waited. A second later, a staticky voice replied, “Sure thing. They’re just putting on their coats and hats then they’ll be right out.”
The woman nodded at him and then put the walkie-talkie down. Colin shifted uncomfortably for a moment as he stared at the plump woman.
Should I say something? I already mentioned the weather… what else can I say to make idle conversation?
For close to a minute, the two of them just stared at each other. Colin swallowed hard, and then, deciding that he could handle the uncomfortable air for any longer, fell into the role of one of the characters in his books.
“So,” he said, leaning forward. He tried to put a wry grin on his face, but it fell short and he let it slide. “What are you doing after this?”
The woman blinked several times in succession.
“Pardon?”
“After all of this. You busy? Got a—”
The woman again blinked her fish-eyes at him, and although the grandiose smile remained on her face, it seemed forced now, as evidenced by further creasing on her otherwise smooth forehead.
Colin suddenly caught sight of Juliette and Colby running down the hallway toward him, their heavy backpacks causing them to sway back and forth as they did.
“No running!” Mrs. Ross shouted after them. “No running, girls!”
Juliette instantly slowed to something that fell between a jog and a walk, but Colby continued running and slid in front of her sister.
“Hey!” Juliette cried. She moved to one side to try to regain the lead, but Colby shifted in that direction and blocked her with her backpack. “Get out of the way, Colby!”
Colin walked around the desk and waved.
“Hi girls!” he cried, trying to distract them to pre-emptively stop what was destined to escalate into a spat.
Colby looked up, and Juliette seized the opportunity to slide in front of her.
“Na-na!” Juliette teased.
Colby shoved her sister to one side, and Juliette stumbled, barely keeping her footing.
“Hey!”
Colin shook his head as he moved toward them, bending to one knee and holding his arms open.
Both girls reached him at the same time, and he embraced them awkwardly.
Then he stood and started toward the door.
“How was your day, girls?”
“Fine,” they replied in unison.
Colin sighed, and offered a parting smile to the woman at the desk as he passed. She blinked at him, but didn’t say a word.
“Just fine, huh? Well, maybe we can change that. Who wants some ice cream?”
“Me! Me! Me!”
***
“Make sure you lick all the way around. I don’t want you to drip in the car,” Colin said as he sat in the driver’s seat.
“Yes, dad,” his daughters replied in unison.
It was only a short drive from Baskin Robbins to their apartment, but during that time Juliette and Colby both managed to break into tears.
Twice.
Colin was barely holding it together when he finally put the car into park, any semblance of pride or esteem from his time at the writer’s group having long since fled him.
“Please, guys. No more fighting. Please. You know how it upsets your mother.”
There was a pause and he glanced up into the rearview.
Colby stared back at him, her eyes oddly vacant. Then she turned to Juliette.
“Gimme a lick.”
Juliette pulled the ice-cream away from her sister, inadvertently rubbing a multicolored swirl on the inside of the door.
“No way, you have your own.”
“Yeah, but I want to try yours!”
Colin rubbed his temples and got out of the car, hesitating before opening the door for Juliette.
“No way!” Juliette whined. “And your breath stinks! Eat your own!”
Juliette jumped from the car, knocking snow across Colin’s running shoes. Colby quickly followed.
“Alright guys, go on inside.”
The girls hurried toward the front door, Colby with her tongue out trying to slurp her sister’s ice cream. They were halfway to the door when Juliette suddenly stopped.
“Hey,” she said, pointing to a light that was on in the second story window. “Isn’t that your room? You said mommy wasn’t going to be home until later.”
Colin squinted upward, confirming that the light, one that he had turned off before leaving, was indeed on.
He shrugged and gestured for them to continue toward the door.
“That’s what she told me.”<
br />
Once inside, Juliette slipped off her backpack and then sprinted toward the stairs.
“Mommy! Mommy! Daddy got us ice cream!” she hollered, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Juliette! Your shoes!” Colin shouted after her. “Take off your shoes! You’re going to track snow through the house!”
The girl didn’t even look back. Somehow, even the sway of her pony-tail seemed sassy.
Colby started after her sister, but Colin grabbed her backpack before she could get away.
“Take off your boots first, Colby.”
The girl whined and grunted, while at the same time trying to remove her boots without untying them, using the toe of one to drive against the heel of the other.
“I can’t! They’re too tight! How come Juliette gets too—”
Colin dropped to a knee.
“You have to undo them first. Here, I’ll help you.”
With numb fingers, he started to untie her first boot. When he was done, she shook it off, flinging snow onto the carpet. He had just started with her second boot when there was a scream from upstairs.
Colin immediately whipped around and ran toward the stairs.
“Juliette? Juliette!”
Colin spotted his daughter in the doorway of his bedroom, her back to him.
“Juliette? What’s wrong?”
Walking briskly now, Colin made it to his daughter and grabbed her, trying to spin her around to look at her.
“Juliette? You okay? What’s wrong?”
Colin looked at his daughter, trying to figure out what was going on. His first thought was that she had dropped her ice cream, but it was still clutched tightly in one hand, the melted pink and blue liquid coating her fingers.
“Juliette?” he repeated.
A sound from the bedroom drew his gaze.
Colin turned and saw his wife sitting on the side of the bed, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She was wearing only a pair of underwear and a plain gray t-shirt, the outline of her small breasts clearly visible through the thin material. Ryanne clicked her lighter and lit her cigarette.
After taking several puffs and exhaling a thick gray cloud of smoke, she raised her gaze to Colin.
Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 1 Page 56
