by Izzy Gomez
“Promise?” Gabby’s eyes shone with concern.
Amanda gave her the most sincere smile she could force. “I promise.”
"Do we need to pinky swear?" Gabby grinned, the first genuine smile Amanda had seen since her attack.
She couldn't help grinning back as she held out her hand, pinky extended. Gabby linked their fingers and tugged.
“I’m holding both you girls to that.” Helen rose and collected their empty salad bowls. Setting them in the sink, she said, “I thought you were taken off the case. How is it keeping you so busy? Shouldn’t it be your new man who’s busy?”
Your new man. Amanda couldn’t help smiling. He’d love being called that. She rather liked it herself. “I am off the case. But it keeps finding its way back to me.”
As Helen washed dishes, Amanda explained as much as she could how she was still involved. She couldn’t give them details, but she did tell them Todd had called her multiple times. And they already knew he’d attacked her.
She did not, however, tell them about Todd’s most recent call. She would tell Greg as soon as she got home. She should probably call him now, but there wasn’t much to say. The conversation had been a rehash of past conversations.
“So what, you’re like the FBI profiler who comes riding into town to solve the case for the bumbling locals?” Gabby liked thriller novels. “Of course, the profiler always falls in love with the one local cop who isn’t bumbling. So that fits.” She read a lot of romances too.
Amanda rolled her eyes. “I’d hardly say I’m Clarice Starling.” She didn’t read thrillers, but she'd seen Silence of the Lambs. “But I guess I’m like a profiler. Since I know Todd so well. Or thought I did.”
"Did they get any leads at that diner yesterday?" Helen turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a towel.
Even after a leisurely shower together this morning, Greg had been tenser than Amanda had ever seen him. When they got to work, Al had been downright surly. They were both pissed about wasting so much of the previous day. "No. I think he did it deliberately to throw us off." Although nowhere near the levels of Greg and Al, frustration gnawed at Amanda. "He knew we'd spend a good chunk of time following up on it. So I don't think he's staying anywhere near there."
"But you don't have an idea where he is staying, other than not there?" Helen bent to look into the oven. "How much longer?"
Amanda checked the clock on the microwave. "Twenty minutes."
Helen twisted her face into an exaggerated frown.
"You remember when you guys used to plan what you'd do if you ran away?" Gabby's voice took on a faraway quality.
"Vaguely." Amanda and Todd planned a lot of things they'd do if Karen was out of their lives. "I remember Todd wanted to run off and live with our mom." He'd always had a harder time with her abandonment than Amanda did. No wonder he'd gotten so messed up. "He even wrote her a long letter once, begging her to let him come live with her. She didn't even bother calling to tell him no. Just sent a postcard."
Gingerly, Gabby shifted positions on her chair. Her face tightened, then relaxed once she stilled.
"One time, you and I came up with a whole scenario for how you'd run away. But we didn't want you to go too far, so we could still hang out. You were going to come here, but we figured you," Gabby nodded at her mom, "would be all annoying and responsible and tell on us."
"It's true," Helen said wryly. "I would have."
"So we came up with other places you could hide out."
Snippets of memory flickered through Amanda’s mind. Passing notes in study hall. Sprawled on Gabby's bed, feet propped on the wall, discussing the pros and cons. "There's that one boathouse we figured is empty in the winter. I was going to go there."
"Or we figured we could find an abandoned house that hadn't been taken over by drug dealers yet."
"Indy’s got plenty of those." She'd been in far too many. Especially ones that had been claimed by drug dealers and users.
Gabby's eyes lit up. She clapped her hands and pointed at Amanda. "There was one place we even discussed with Todd."
Memories coming rapidfire now, Amanda got up to pace. "He got obsessed with the idea. Was serious about doing it." He'd been furious when Amanda laughed at him and said she hadn't actually planned to run away.
It's a stupid fantasy Gabby and I talk about when we're bored in study hall. Like living under a bridge is really better than living with Karen.
For her, even Karen was better than living on the streets. But for Todd, it was probably a toss-up.
"Under a bridge," Amanda said at the same time Gabby said, "By the river."
They pointed at each other. Gabby snapped her fingers. "Where Michigan crosses the river. There's all the trees to hide in.” She nodded frantically, like a bobble-head doll. "You were going to live under the bridge, and hide out in the woods.
“Todd even went so far as to plan to take baths in the river.” Amanda shuddered. The White River wasn’t exactly pristine artesian springwater.
Her hand already going for her cell, she said, "That's gotta be it. Either that or we canvass every abandoned house in the county."
“Wait. That wasn’t the end of it.” Gabby flapped her hands. She bounced, then stopped and winced.
Amanda lowered her phone. “You OK?”
Holding her side, Gabby nodded. “Fine. But don’t you remember? Todd got obsessed with running away and kept coming up with other places to go.”
Catching Helen’s shocked expression, Amanda shrugged. “We were kids. We were just goofing around.” At least she’d thought Todd was goofing around. But maybe Gabby was onto something. “There was one he got stuck on.” Amanda closed her eyes, concentrating. The answer hovered just beyond her grasp.
“Your dad's friend.”
Memories sharpened into 20/20 focus. Driving to school one October morning, Todd rambling about how no one would look there.
She was dialing before she could get the words out. “Dave Peterson.”
“That’s it!” Gabby clapped. She looked like the old Gabby. The Before Gabby. The real Gabby.
As Amanda listened to Greg's phone ring on the other end, she headed to the living room for her purse and jacket.
"Hey! You can't just run off." Gabby hobbled after her.
Greg's phone went to voicemail. Rather than wait to leave a message, she disconnected and dialed Al.
"I'm not going alone. I'm—"
"Voegler."
"I know where he is. Get backup and meet me in Zionsville.” She rattled off the address.
"What the fuck?"
Good to know Al was still surly.
"Don’t you think the owners would notice him hanging around their McMansion?"
"They’re only there in July." Amanda pulled her keys from her purse. "Gotta go," she mouthed to Gabby. To Al, she said, "Do you want me to rehash dumb childhood stories or do you want to take my word for it?"
"Can't be any bigger of a wild goose chase than yesterday," he muttered. "Why are you calling me and not your boyfriend?"
"I got voicemail. I'll try him again. I'm leaving now, and I'm only a few minutes away. So get your ass moving." Before he could bitch more, she hung up.
Her hand was on the doorknob when Gabby grabbed her shoulder. "Hey. Be careful, OK?"
Amanda almost deflated at the fear and worry on her friend’s face. She put her arms around Gabby and squeezed gently, mindful of her injuries.
“I’m always careful.” She gave Gabby her best reassuring smile.
Gabby wrapped her arms around Amanda’s middle. “Famous last words.”
Kicking his car door shut, Greg struggled to keep his eyes open. One of these days, he’d get home before dark. He juggled his McDonald’s bag in one hand and a large Coke in the other, trying to access his house key. His stomach rumbled. Amazing how quickly it had gotten used to Amanda’s fabulous cooking. A Big Mac was going to taste a lot less satisfying than it had a month ago.
He
shoved his key in the lock. Before opening the door, he pulled two fries out of the bag and folded them into his mouth. They were hot and crispy, not cold and limp like they sometimes were at McD’s. He paused to savor the greasy, salty goodness. The Big Mac may not hold up against Amanda’s food, but fries were fries, and he was still a guy.
The skinny tabby–Plato?–greeted him with a meow as it wound around his ankles. “Hey, buddy. Let me get inside, huh?”
It was nice having someone–or something, anyway–greet him at the door. Why hadn’t he ever gotten a pet?
Shuffling to avoid tripping or stepping on Plato, Greg made his way into the kitchen. He set his food on the counter and squatted to pet the cat.
Plato immediately began purring as he rubbed his head on Greg’s hand. Greg scratched Plato’s chin, drawing a meow.
Without warning, sharp, concentrated pain stabbed his neck. His hand flew up to feel a needle being withdrawn. Before he could turn, an arm grabbed him around the neck and wrenched his head back. He arched against his attacker as the unknown assailant dragged him backward.
Greg had no choice but to stumble along. Already his brain felt fuzzy.
Shit. He’d been so focused on Todd getting to Amanda; it never occurred to him the fucker would come after him.
Todd dragged Greg into the living room, and tossed him toward the couch. Limbs heavy and clumsy, Greg couldn’t do much to protest. He wasn’t sure he could think of a way out of this anyway, even if his body would obey. His mind felt heavy. His arms felt heavy. His eyelids felt heavy.
“I don’t believe we’ve formally been introduced, Detective.” Todd sat down in the recliner.
Dammit, that was Greg’s favorite chair. Bastard was getting his evil juice all over it.
Did evil juice taste like grape juice? That would be yummy. No wonder there were so many bad people.
“But I think you know who I am. I certainly know who you are. You’re the one fucking my sister.”
Some part of Greg’s mind registered that he should take offense. But he was floating. Both too light and too heavy to get upset.
Which was good. Because that same part of his mind, the rapidly shrinking part that could still hold a lucid thought, screamed that he should be scared. As in, shit-his-pants terrified. But how was he supposed to shit his pants if he could barely keep his eyes open? That was absurd.
“My little sister is a tougher cookie than I gave her credit for.” Todd was playing with a knife. A big one. The one Amanda said was the only halfway decent knife in his “piece of crap” collection.
Greg didn’t know much about knives, but it was shiny. And sharp. Amanda had sharpened all his knives.
“Apparently, flushing her career down the toilet is fine with her. So she clearly hates me more than she loves her job.” Todd tossed the knife onto the coffee table.
Too bad Greg couldn’t move. Or think. Otherwise, maybe he could get that pretty, shiny knife. There was a reason he wanted it, but he couldn’t think of what that reason was.
“So now comes the real test of your relationship, Detective. Does she love you more than she hates me?”
Chapter 29
“You gonna explain why you think he’s here?” Al asked as a patrol officer named Smythe pried open the side door to the garage.
“My dad grew up with Dave Peterson. They live in Chicago, but when they inherited this place from Dave’s parents, they kept it as a vacation home.” Vacations didn’t get more exotic than Indianapolis suburbs.
Al looked up at the brick house that boasted well over five thousand square feet. “They looking to hire a caretaker? I’d be happy to do it for free rent.”
“His wife comes from money, and they’re both ridiculously successful.”
“It’s a fabulous house, but I’m still not sure how this relates to your brother.”
Smythe shouldered open the door and nodded to Amanda and Al.
Leading with his weapon, Al stepped into the garage. “Police. Anybody here?”
Amanda followed, and with the help of Smythe and two other suburban officers, they checked the garage. Empty.
A security panel hung next to the door to the house. Al punched in the code Dave Peterson had given them over the phone. When Amanda called him, he’d been shocked and furious to think a murderer was hiding out in his house. After Amanda quickly explained her reasoning, he’d given them the OK to search.
Al again led the way. They went through the mudroom and into the kitchen. “Police! Show yourself!”
Silence. Using her flashlight, Amanda surveyed the room. Dave said they left the kitchen spotless when they left two months ago. Now, looking in the sink, there was a dirty plate and a cup with remnants of brown liquid. If Todd wasn’t here, someone else was using their house.
“He’s here. There are dishes in the sink,” Amanda whispered.
“Smythe, watch the stairs,” Al said. “Jordan, the garage. Schreiber, Dolan, let’s clear this floor.”
Amanda, Al and Officer Dolan quickly searched the massive downstairs and came up empty. So they ascended the sweeping staircase to the second floor. Amanda made sure to keep her flashlight beam low. No sense alerting Todd to their presence if he decided to come home.
Once again, Al announced their arrival. Once again, they were met with silence.
With Dolan guarding the stairs, they cleared the upstairs. No Todd.
In the family room, however, Amanda found the next best thing. A wadded up pillow, a sheet and a blanket were shoved to one end of the sofa. The table was littered with food wrappers and empty soda cans. All Diet Dr. Pepper, Todd’s favorite. The food wrappers were primarily from Taco Bell, another of Todd’s favorites. Amanda’s stomach rolled at the idea of him eating nothing but crap. It barely qualified as food.
She holstered her weapon, snapped a few pictures with her cell phone camera, then donned a pair of gloves and started picking through the trash. “In the family room! I got something!”
Inside one of the Taco Bell bags, she found her santoku knife. Too bad it had to go into evidence and not back to her kitchen. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d put it in the bag on purpose, knowing it would piss her off.
Next to the coffee table sat a duffel bag embroidered with the University of Chicago School of Medicine logo.
“Put that down,” Al snapped as he came into the room. “Captain will skin us both if she finds out you touched anything.”
Painful as it was to her chef's sensibilities, Amanda put the knife back in the bag and returned it to the table. “You might want to look in the bags. See if there’s anything but trash in them.”
“Haha.” He put his hands on her shoulders and none-too-gently nudged her onto the couch. “Stay.”
“Arf.”
“Again, you’re a damn comedian.”
“Can we turn on a light?” Jordan asked. Only a few months out of the academy, he still looked to his seniors for guidance on every step he took. “We’re in the back of the house. Can’t possibly be visible from the street.”
“Negative,” Smythe said. In contrast to Jordan, Smythe was a year from collecting his pension. Jordan was lucky to be paired with someone so knowledgeable. “He could come around back to enter. He doesn’t want to be seen from the street either.”
“You.” Al pointed at Jordan. “Sit on her,” he swiveled his hand to point at Amanda, “and use these.” He handed Jordan his flashlight, grabbed Amanda’s and also handed it over.
Jordan’s nervous gaze darted between Al and Amanda.
“He doesn’t actually want you to sit on me.” If this were any other case, she’d have smacked Al upside the head. “He wants you to make sure I don’t touch anything.”
Al and Smythe started sifting through the garbage. Al started with the bag containing Amanda's knife. Jordan joined her on the couch.
“Call your boyfriend.” Al pulled the knife from the bag and angled it to see in the light.
“Sir?” Jordan asked. "
I'm not—"
“He means me.” Amanda pulled out her phone and dialed Greg. After four rings, it rolled to voicemail. “Hey. It’s me. It’s important. Call me right away.” In case he didn’t check his voicemail, she sent him a text.
“Where the fuck is he?” Al muttered.
“Check this out,” Smythe said from across the room. He stood next to a side table, illuminating a plastic biospecimen bag. It held five small vials. “There’s a couple dozen more vials and a bunch of needles over here. This guy into drugs?”
“For others,” Amanda said, weary. She shouldn’t be surprised by any of it. But seeing the stash of drugs up close and in person was different than hearing about it from Al and Greg. She wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Propofol and ketamine,” Al said. “Same thing he’s been using on everyone else.”
“Where does he get this stuff?” Jordan asked. “That’s a ton of it. I don’t remember hearing about any big vet robberies lately.”
“He’s an anesthesiologist.” Amanda forced herself not to rock back and forth like a crazy person. “He doesn’t have to rob a vet to get ketamine.”
“Has anyone checked with the hospital? See if they’re missing all this?” Al asked.
“It’s your damn case,” Amanda snapped. “Shouldn’t you check?”
She opened her eyes to see Al looking in her direction, but she couldn’t read his expression. She knew him well enough, though, to picture his glare.
“We need to get a unit in here,” Smythe said. “This is more than we should go through on our own.”
“I want my knife.” The words slipped out before Amanda realized she’d thought them.
A whoop of laughter came from across the room. Al doubled over, shaking his head. “Oh, Schreiber, you are too fucking much,” he choked out between bellows.
“Fuck you.”
He put his hands on his knees and looked at her. She could just make out his grin. Such a rare occurrence, it was nice to see at her expense.
