The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  An attempt to both mask his trail and keep himself completely hidden from view in the unlikely event somebody else happened by the picnic area.

  Technique and training both dictating that Billie travel exactly where her quarry did, she had been forced to piece her way through. A headlong struggle amidst heavy branches lined with thorns and brush woven with vines.

  A path Reed had forced himself to follow as well, always staying within arm’s reach of her, taking the full brunt of everything she did.

  A rite of solidarity that tugged at his clothes and skin, leaving deep gouges across his exposed hands and forearms.

  “Positive,” Reed said. “Billie alerted on the same scrap of cloth we found at the other site, led us right to the spot he fired from.”

  Clenching his jaw, he glanced back to the nest beside him. “Exactly the same as two days ago as well.”

  “Christ,” McKeon muttered, putting to words one of the many things that had been riffling through Reed’s mind.

  “Yeah,” Reed agreed, flicking his gaze up to Welsh, his features illuminated by the phone held out before him, before moving over to Billie a few feet away.

  A silhouette barely visible save the lens glare from the light passing across her eyes.

  “How’s the tech crew coming over there?” Reed asked.

  “They’re still at it,” McKeon said. “They got the body moved and were able to recover the bullet, which wasn’t easy. Damned thing was so big it passed clean through the wall and into the next room.”

  Recalling Wainwright’s explanation about the block comprising the first floor of the Salem home, Reed imagined what he was certain was another .300 Winchester Magnum punching right through the tile and sheetrock lining the bathroom.

  “Probably be another hour or so before they’re done here, I’m told,” McKeon added.

  Based on the time of their arrival and the impending loss of daylight, Reed guessed it to be just after nine o’clock. Well into evening, but early enough there was still more they could do.

  Time to harness both the recency of the act and the adrenaline that it had brought about.

  “You mentioned earlier that you spoke with Lawson’s wife?”

  “I did,” McKeon replied. “But she is eight months pregnant and was barely keeping it together when we spoke, so I sent her home with her sister, asked her to meet us at the station first thing in the morning.”

  Pausing there, he seemed to consider what was just shared a moment before adding, “Trust me, we weren’t getting much out of that poor woman tonight.”

  Having spoken to Harrison Salem three times since the death of his wife, Reed didn’t doubt as much for an instant.

  No matter how much his every desire was to keep pushing.

  “Okay,” he eventually capitulated, hating the sound of the word as it left his lips. “Have your crew finish up there and then head over. One of us will stay here to mark the spot, the other will be waiting in the parking lot to lead them in.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Two consecutive nights with only nominal sleep. A lone solid meal courtesy of the veterans gathering outside Gallipolis. Multiple trips up and down the corridor cutting through the heart of the state.

  Fierce humidity. Multiple visits to one of the largest prisons in the area.

  A pair of crime scenes ripped directly from late-night television.

  The combined effects, Reed could not help but feel as he pushed the sedan west. Back toward Columbus and, hopefully, eventually, his home beyond that.

  More than four hours after making the trip across town, the vibe inside the vehicle was much different. Gone was any of the previous frustration and anticipation that were pushing him onward. A system redlined by the news report in Grimes’s office, wanting so badly to run with the flashers and siren blaring, forcing traffic out of his way.

  In its place now was a host of other things resting on the far opposite end of the spectrum. Disparate feelings ranging from the guilt he’d first felt while examining the Lawson home to the self-flagellation that came from standing in the parking lot waiting for the crime scene crew and second guessing every decision made in the last couple of days.

  An exercise that had managed to produce little more than a fair bit of loathing within.

  An emotion that Reed despised to the point he could almost taste it, rising like bile along the back of his throat.

  Seated with his left wrist draped atop the wheel of his sedan, Reed gave the bare minimum attention to the world around him. With the cruise control set at five miles above the posted speed limit, he sat in the middle lane heading west, letting the light flow of evening traffic guide him back.

  A low-power state allowing his active mind to continue plowing through all that had transpired in the last couple of hours. Slideshows of the various images that he’d come across. Replays of the steps they’d taken and the conversations they’d had.

  One after another, he riffled through them, scouring each for some detail that hadn’t yet been fully explored.

  A task he was still in the midst of when his phone came to life in the middle console, the sudden burst of light in the darkened interior ripping him from his thoughts. Drawing his attention to the side, he glanced to the screen long enough to register the name splashed across it.

  A rare treat over the last couple of days, most incoming calls having been only a string of digits. Unknown persons spread across much of the state, hardly any of them calling to provide usable data.

  Infinitely more questions than answers, a trend he hoped would be changing with the man phoning him now.

  “Earl,” Reed opened, sending the call straight to speakerphone. “Thanks for calling me back.”

  “Yeah, sorry, we were out in the field,” Earl Bautista replied without going into the particulars of whatever crime scene he’d spent the evening on.

  Details Reed wasn’t much up for, having seen enough himself in the last couple of days to meet his quota for a while.

  “Just got your message,” Earl continued. “Sounds like I’ve got incoming?”

  The voice tinged with a smoker’s rasp filling the interior of the vehicle, it was loud enough to override the thrum of the highway passing beneath the tires. Sufficient even to pull Billie from her perch in the back, her head easing between the front seats. Hot breath landed on Reed’s bicep as she pushed her muzzle forward, stopping just past his shoulder.

  Shoving out a sigh, Reed said, “Yeah. Sorry to drop this on you. I’m working a case over in Newark and the crew I’m working with is going to be tied up onsite most of the night.

  “Was hoping if we brought a bullet by, you might be able to run a basic ballistic profile on it.”

  Checking the overhead signage for the litany of numbered highways that were fast approaching as they reached the eastern edge of the city, Reed spotted what he needed. Dropping the blinker, he eased over a pair of lanes, preparing for their impending exit.

  “Newark?” Earl asked. “How’d you-”

  Stopping himself short, he exhaled slowly, a bit of dawning seeming to register. “Let me guess, the governor saw it getting serious attention and sent you over?”

  A valid question, Reed himself likely having the same assumption if their places were switched.

  “Actually, no,” Reed said. “Seemed to be connected to a case we’ve been working down along the river, so we went over to take a look.”

  For a moment, Reed considered adding that whether or not the initial shooting of Cara Salem was handed to them for the very same reason was a matter of some debate. A comment both to bring Earl up to speed on where things stood and to serve as an apology of sorts for Reed calling and leaning on him now.

  A move he wasn’t entirely happy about, even if he had gotten clearance from Earl weeks before to help with any crime scene processing that might arise.

  An additional asset in line with Deke for cyber assistance and McMichaels and Jacobs for extra manpower shou
ld he need it.

  Pre-requisites that he and Brandt had both insisted on once it became clear that sidestepping the role the governor was trying to thrust upon them wasn’t an option.

  “I’m guessing if you’re calling me, you believe they are?” Earl asked.

  “Positive it’s the same guy,” Reed replied. “Billie hit on the same scent at both scenes. With this, I’m just looking to see if we’ve got a matching murder weapon too.”

  “Got it,” Earl said. “You sure that’s all you need?”

  “Yeah,” Reed replied. Dropping his blinker once more, he followed the highway as it forked to the right, pushing himself in a west-northwest direction across the heart of the city.

  A route taking them further from home, but closer to what was now a pair of stops that needed to be made first.

  “Ellen Webb is running the scene and said they can do the rest there, but we wanted to get confirmation on the bullet before meeting with the victim’s family in the morning.”

  “Gotcha,” Earl replied, picking up on the connection and the impact it would have on questioning. “Ellen’s good. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll do it.”

  “Yeah, she said you guys had worked together before,” Reed replied.

  Grunting softly, Earl asked, “Who’s got the other one?”

  “Ed Wainwright, out of Portsmouth. Ellen said she knew him as well.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Earl replied. “Just one big incestuous family, I tell you.”

  Despite his mood, Reed felt a corner of his mouth crease back. An unexpected bit of mirth that lingered just a moment, as much from the comment as the visual of the man saying it.

  A veritable giant, standing a couple of inches taller than Reed and weighing a hundred pounds more, perpetually dressed in bib overalls.

  Not exactly the kind of person one would expect to be making cracks about incest.

  “I know you’re just leaving a scene,” Reed said, “but-”

  “It can wait,” Earl replied, cutting him off. “You’ve got a serial making headlines right now. That definitely takes precedent over a damned robbery.”

  “Thank you, Earl. See you soon.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The single stop Reed had envisioned after leaving Newark ended up being three.

  The first of those was on the western outer belt of Columbus to see Earl. A brief visit to drop off the bullet that killed Avery Lawson, the crime lab veteran assuring them that he would have an analysis ready by morning. Going an extra step, he also promised to circle back with Wain and having a comparison between the two prepared as well.

  A quick in-and-out that was all business, the late hour and their respective days keeping either side from engaging in extended small talk.

  Perhaps when they reconnected in the morning, but not a moment sooner.

  The second stop thereafter was completely unscripted. An impulse decision made by the grumbling in Reed’s stomach and the allure of neon bulbs positioned just off the side of the road. A twenty-four-hour taqueria Reed didn’t even realize he was craving until seeing it, the glowing beacon there to remind him that he hadn’t consumed a thing since the breakfast sandwich that morning.

  A decision that was more an outcome of circumstance, the hectic schedule and earlier crime scene making food either unavailable or unwanted.

  The third and final stop that Reed made was the only one that was actually planned from the moment he left the hillside overlooking the highway in Newark an hour before. A visit to what from the outside looked like a most unusual place, his destination a single-story ranch house in a bucolic neighborhood in Hilliard. A home painted pale yellow with light blue shutters and flower boxes underscoring each of the windows.

  A place set to match many of the others lining the street, meant for families with young children and pets and minivans sitting in the driveway.

  A setting not unlike the one Reed had grown up in in the suburbs of Oklahoma City.

  Standing on the front porch, Reed clutched a pair of sacks loaded with food in one hand. With the other, he tapped out a quick text message, knowing better than to knock or – even worse – ring the doorbell.

  We’re here.

  Beside him, Billie stood with her focus aimed at the sacks in his hand, her tongue flicking out over her nose. Occasional splashes of pink paired with slight whines, making her desires for the miasma of chicken and beef emanating from them quite well known.

  Feelings that Reed shared wholeheartedly, having pushed aside multiple urges on the way over to pull to the side of the road and let them both dive in.

  Door is unlocked. Come on down.

  The instant the message arrived granting them access, Reed eased open the front door. Careful not to let it swing open too wide or make any more noise than necessary, he turned to the side, allowing Billie to pass beside him, before pulling it closed in their wake.

  A move that plunged them both into momentary darkness as he slid across the small foyer at the front of the home and pulled open a second door. An entry giving way to a set of bare wooden steps leading down into the basement, the glow of pale light guiding their descent.

  The first time Reed ever met Deke was more than a decade before. Assigned to the same floor in the freshman dorms at Ohio State as Reed’s old partner Riley, the two had formed an unlikely friendship that endured well after those first few days of teenage awkwardness.

  An unholy mash of two people that could not be more different, many that knew them chalking it up to the college bubble. People who were able to put aside whatever glaring differences might have existed within the narrow context of campus life.

  Speculation that only seemed to tighten their bond, the two remaining close even after Riley enrolled in the police academy and Deke returned to Hilliard to take up residence in his grandmother’s basement and found his budding cybersecurity empire.

  Divergent paths that had seen them come back together years later, Riley occasionally tapping her friend’s expertise on cases she and Reed were assigned after ascending to detective status. Assistance that Reed continued to rely on even after her passing, the loss of her as a buffer between them paving the way to their actually become friends themselves.

  An outcome Reed could admit he did not foresee, no small part of that due to his own dismissal of the man as nothing more than arrested development.

  A misidentification the full extent of which had only become evident in recent months.

  “Dude, thanks for not ringing the doorbell,” Deke said by way of greeting. Seated in a rolling desk chair, he was positioned to the side of the enormous workstation that dominated the entire back end of the basement. A collection of monitors and towers that would make most IT departments envious, arranged as a wall of plastic and glass in the center of the space.

  A partition for him to hide behind, pulling off a variety of feats Reed was still only beginning to comprehend.

  “Absolutely,” Reed said, crossing from polished concrete underfoot to the chunk of loop carpeting covering most of the floor. “How’s she doing?”

  A reference to Deke’s grandmother upstairs and her ongoing battle with dementia, the reason for his and Billie’s silent entry and for Deke still calling the place home, despite being able to purchase any property on the street.

  Or all of them, if he so desired.

  “Pretty good,” Deke replied. One stockinged foot planted flat on the floor, the other was raised to his opposite thigh, his hands clasped together atop his head.

  A pose as much a part of his makeup as his proclivity for surfer slang.

  “Thanks for asking.”

  Lifting the sacks of food, Reed said, “You hungry? Saw this new place called El Jefe on the way over and thought we’d give it a try.”

  “I’ll take it for breakfast,” Deke replied. “Going to be a long night. You two go ahead though, looks like you’ve had an even longer day.”

  Havin
g not peeked in a mirror in hours, Reed didn’t bother asking what exactly Deke was referring to. Considering everything the day had entailed, he could only imagine what it must look like from the outside. Some combination of dirt and sweat and exhaustion that still didn’t begin to display the full litany of what they’d been through.

  An itinerary Reed did not want to get into as he fished out a plastic bowl with a clear top from one of the bags. Popping it open, he checked to ensure it was filled with the plain chicken and rice he had requested for Billie before placing it on the concrete at the base of the stairs.

  A spot making for easy cleanup of whatever she might leave behind, though based on the ferocity with which she attacked it, he couldn’t imagine there being much to speak of.

  Leaving her to it, Reed turned back to the closest of a pair of recliners sitting nearby. Seating optimally positioned in front of the eighty-inch television dominating the left end of the basement. Speaker towers arranged on either side, every form of videogame device ever conceived was arrayed on the shelves below.

  A mecca to all things gaming, offset by the living quarters comprising the last chunk of the basement dwelling. An area with an oversized waterbed in the center, a dresser and minifridge placed on either side, overseen by a host of neon signs hanging on the wall.

  Advertisements for various alcoholic offerings that used to serve as a requirement for any favors that might be solicited. A form of payment that was eventually cast aside when Reed was able to cut a deal with the city, compensating the man with actual monies for his services.

  “So what’s up?” Deke asked.

  Dropping himself into the closest recliner, Reed allowed the extra padding of the leather chair to wrap around him. Feeling as if it might swallow him whole, he sat in silence a moment, allowing his body to meld with the seat, before reaching to the sack of food resting in his lap.

  “Happen to catch the news this evening?” Reed asked. Unfurling the top, he reached for the first item wrapped in wax paper. Not even caring what was in it, he drew it out and peeled back one corner.