The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  The bathroom was tiny and I pulled the shower curtain open to turn on the water. After I pissed about a gallon of what had to be the booze, I hopped in. Yesterday was a complete waste of a day, and today didn’t look promising.

  Every lead led us nowhere.

  I held onto everything I could. The feel of her lips on mine, the kisses she blew to Clementine when she spoke with her on the phone, the sound of her voice.

  And yet I worried those very vibrant things would be crushed by the fact that she was missing and I couldn’t find her.

  My old man and Declan were going to watch Mickey’s floral shop for unusual activity. I’d talked over with my old man the possibility of Mickey resurrecting the Dorchester Heights Gang. Just like Frank, he highly doubted it. Said Mickey had lost his drive when his gang folded. What he was going to do, though, was visit Patrick. It was doubtful he’d tell my old man anything but on the off chance he would, it was worth the visit.

  Then there was O’Shea. He’d cut loose yesterday after we left. Turns out he went home. The monitoring device that Miles had left in his office didn’t give us shit. He didn’t so much as sneeze before he left.

  The videos from his computer, though—fuck, I couldn’t block them out no matter how hard I tried.

  In them, it was O’Shea and Lizzy and a second man, but that man was never the same. One video was with Derrick, and what he’d told us about his encounter was true. The hotel rooms were always different but Michael was always sitting in a chair, watching, and then praying. Some verse about bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other. Miles looked it up. It was Colossians 3:13, a scripture on forgiveness.

  Perhaps forgiving adultery?

  I had no idea.

  The videos had all been taped within a one-week time span.

  Regardless of the date, they all played out the same. O’Shea sat in his suit. Lizzy turned the camera on and opened the door, where a man would be standing. He’d go in and they’d get right to it. The fucking was different, but her face the same—saddened. When it was over, the hired escort would leave, O’Shea would take Lizzy’s hand, and they would pray. Then the camera would turn off.

  It was like some kind of test.

  Only once did the camera remain on after the little prayer session, and it appeared as if it was left on by accident.

  Lizzy stood beside Michael and reached to turn the camera off, but it didn’t turn off.

  He took her in his arms.

  “No more,” she cried.

  He kissed her head. “This was the last time. I promise.”

  “I can see Clementine now?”

  He shook his head.

  “Michael, please, you promised.”

  “It’s not my choice. He doesn’t think you’re ready.”

  “But I did what you asked.”

  “That’s just it. You didn’t pass.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you see? You aren’t strong enough to fight off the evil. You shouldn’t have fucked those men.”

  “But you told me to!”

  His eyes glassed over. “Turn it back on—he’ll know we talked.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Turn it on.”

  She reached again but the camera didn’t turn off. She had to be doing it on purpose—like she planned to use it for it something. Then she went back to stand beside him.

  Once again, he took her into his arms, but this time he asked, “Do you feel repentant?”

  She raised her chin, but not in defiance, more in resoluteness. “Yes.”

  “Do you still want to fuck other men while married to me?” he asked.

  “No, Michael, I don’t want to. I love you.”

  “Then why do you?”

  She stared at him.

  “Tell me!”

  “You told me to,” she cried.

  “But I didn’t tell you to fuck Tommy while you were married to me and you did.”

  “I said I was sorry. I’ve said it so many times. I don’t love him. I love you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Just then there was a knock on the door.

  Neither moved to answer it.

  “Open the door, Michael, it’s time for me to take her back.”

  “No,” Lizzy cried.

  And Michael seemed to be crying too.

  It was then that he shut the camera off.

  Everything about it disturbed me. Him, Elle’s sister, the random johns, the praying, the demands, and the guy behind the door. After seeing the videos, I couldn’t even discuss them. My stomach had lost its contents more than once last night and my nerves were on the brink of being fried.

  He was one fucked-up person.

  And Elle was tied to him in a way I couldn’t sever.

  Knock. Knock.

  I turned the water off. “Yeah.”

  “O’Shea just got a call from the Sudbury Police Department. The Mercedes turned up abandoned near the old Fort Devens Annex early this morning.”

  “The wildlife refuge?”

  “Yeah, that’s the place.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I yelled.

  “I’ll be in the car,” Miles said.

  Like lightning, I bolted out of the shower. I didn’t bother to dry off before I put my clothes on.

  My heart thundered in my chest. I hadn’t asked him if . . . I let the thought hang there where it was.

  Outside, Miles was in his car. An old Mach One Mustang. I wasn’t sure what year it was, but I knew it was older than my old man’s Porsche.

  I hopped in without hesitation. “Any sign of Elle?” I asked, worry clear in my voice.

  He gunned it and the engine roared. “No. I called an old buddy on the force in Sudbury; no signs of anyone, anywhere.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “I also called Blanchet.”

  My head whipped in his direction.

  “It was close enough to the twenty-four hours.”

  “And?”

  “Turns out Michael reported her missing early this morning.”

  My head snapped in Miles’s direction. “O’Shea reported her missing?”

  That wasn’t good news at all. That meant he really didn’t know where she was.

  “We’re monitoring his office calls, so if anyone contacts him there we’ll know.”

  Unable to take anymore, I shook my head. “And what about calls to his cell and house?”

  “I’m working on that.”

  “When will it be done?”

  “I had to ask for help. I got four guys on it. Hopefully within the hour.”

  I pointed ahead to the road, where I eyed the cars stacked up, their red taillights a glowing line, their exhaust trailing white flares of smoke. The day was overcast and cold again. The traffic looked bad for miles, and it was at least an hour drive to Devens without it. I linked my hands behind my head. All I wanted to do was plow through the cars.

  Like magic, Miles reached under his dash and pulled out a siren.

  “No fucking way.”

  The grin on his face was one I’d hardly ever seen. And he opened his window and jammed that thing onto his roof.

  With a small glimmer of hope that had no right being anywhere in my chest, I looked over at him. “I fucking love you, man.”

  “You better. I’m breaking so many laws right now.” He punched the gas and off we flew through the traffic, weaving in and out and around the line of cars.

  We hadn’t even known each other a month, and he was putting himself out there to help me, which only proved it wasn’t how long you knew someone that mattered but the relationship you forged.

  And the one I’d forged with Elle was unbreakable.

  I was going to find her.

  We were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

  Interstate 90 was a breeze to get to on the Miles Express. My gaze was out the window, my mind a scattered mess of thought
s. Elle had to be okay. Why hadn’t anyone heard anything from her kidnapper, though? That’s what bothered me the most. If she wasn’t kidnapped for a ransom of some kind, why was she taken?

  There was a green and white sign on the side of the road that read boston university school of theology. “Holy fuck!” I pounded the window with my fist.

  Miles jerked his head my way but kept up his speed. “What is it, man?”

  My head snapped back as if Miles could read the sign even after we passed it. “When I went to see Tommy in prison and he told me he suspected O’Shea had killed his wife, he said something I totally disregarded as babble.”

  “You know the police have no evidence that leads to O’Shea. He has a tight alibi, so chances are it was babble.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, but that’s not what I’m saying. Tommy told me the Priest had taken Lizzy.”

  Route 2 was ahead and Miles eased off the gas. “I’m not following.”

  “What if all this time we thought Lizzy abandoned O’Shea, she hadn’t really left him but she’d been held captive?”

  Miles’s head nodded slowly. “I’m following you now, but what about the videos? They were filmed last month.”

  I sighed. “I know, but if those men were tests of some kind?”

  “And she failed.”

  “She’d have still been held. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “What about when we saw her on the hotel footage with Tommy?”

  “Maybe she’d gotten free and that’s why she was sneaking around. Why she was trying to contact Elle, but not Michael. Why she didn’t see her kid.”

  Miles nodded. “It makes sense. It also makes sense that the Priest was the man behind the door in the videos.”

  “And the one calling Elle.”

  Miles nodded again.

  “We have to find the Priest.”

  “Another visit to Michael?”

  I nodded. “Once we get back. What other choice do we have?”

  “Not many. I’ve exhausted my resources. They’ve all heard of him but no one has seen him, nor do they know where to find him. I can bring in some guys from the Gang Unit, but it’s going to cost you.”

  “However much, I don’t care.” I checked my watch, the one my grandfather Ryan had given me, and for once was thankful for the trust fund he’d set up for me, for the fact that money would never be an obstacle in getting Elle back.

  “And Patrick?” he asked.

  “My old man is set to meet with him this afternoon.”

  The rain had stopped about thirty minutes ago. Finally. And was replaced by blasting sunshine. With the change in weather, we arrived at the wildlife refuge in record time considering we were coming all the way from the East End.

  A blue-shirted county sheriff’s deputy was blocking the way down the road, the road the Mercedes was found abandoned on.

  Miles rolled down his window. “Hey, man. Can you let me pass?”

  Rolled-up sleeves, buzz cut, and iron face, the guy appeared at the open window. He took a swig of water from a plastic bottle he was holding and then shaded his eyes and peered in. “Miles, my man, I thought the car looked familiar.”

  Miles held his hand out and the two shook.

  “I’d love to help you, but I need to know why.”

  Miles nodded in understanding. “The woman who was driving that car is a personal friend and I’m trying to help find her, private work.”

  The deputy pounded the hood. “I don’t have to tell you not to touch anything.”

  Miles gave another nod.

  “Carry on then, and if I can be of any help, let me know.”

  It was crazy how police connections worked.

  Two uniforms comparing paperwork on the dirt road gave the tow truck driver a thumbs-up. Since Elle was reported missing, and the car she last drove was found abandoned, crime scene investigation was on site. Just as we pulled up, their vehicles started rolling away, as did the other sheriff cars. “Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking,” Miles warned.

  I paused and then said, “Yeah, sure.”

  He opened his door and cruised over to them.

  I followed.

  The remaining guys were both young, had to be fresh out of the academy when Miles retired. “Hey, Miles Murphy. Not sure if you remember me—”

  The uniform with a build like a boulder stuck his hand out. “Miles Murphy, of course I remember you, you’re a legend. Took a round in a gang turf war in the West End and lived to tell the story.” He turned to the other officer, who was even broader shouldered and more barrel chested. “You remember the story, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, of course I do. How can we help you?”

  Miles lowered his chin and nodded toward the clipboard in the linebacker’s hand. “I’m working the case of a missing woman and she was last seen driving the Mercedes you just towed off. Find anything that might help me find her?”

  There was no hesitation in his response. “Nothing really. Small amounts of blood were found and we’re sending them off to the lab, but CSI initial analysis showed two different blood types. Purse, laptop, and wallet for a,” he glanced down, “Gabrielle Sterling were found, which rules out a simple mugging. There are signs of a struggle but really, not much more.”

  Suddenly, the sun seemed blazing hot even though it was only April. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. I couldn’t move if I were asked to. What if someone just took her and we never hear a word about her again? What if she just vanished? Who would care—other than me? O’Shea would move on like he had since his wife went missing. Elle had no family to speak of—except for that little girl she loves. The one she adamantly wanted to keep safe. Who would make sure Clementine was safe?

  Somehow, some way, I knew I would.

  Miles’s expression was blank. “Anything else I should know about that might lead me to where the perp came from?”

  The other cop scratched his head. “No, that’s about it. But leave me your number. If something comes up, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Hey, thanks, man, I really appreciate the help.”

  The two officers nodded and the linebacker said, “And if you come across anything, you’ll let us handle it, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  The other one indicated me with his finger. “Who’s this, by the way?”

  The Sheriff’s car that was blocking the road started down the path.

  Miles blew off the question. “We’d better let you get to it. Thanks again.”

  Back in the car, it took all I had not to lose it.

  My head felt heavy.

  My vision slightly blurry.

  My heart strained.

  Memories of Elle burned in my eyes. The way she’d wiggle out of my hold. Blow me a kiss as she went off to work. Laugh on the phone.

  She was so full of life.

  The landscape blurred as we headed back to Boston. We were about halfway when Miles broke the silence. “Let’s head over to the address Elle gave you yesterday.”

  “There’s no point to that,” I muttered, staring straight ahead.

  “Well, we’re going anyway.”

  I shrugged.

  He kept on. “Do you think it takes a special dye to make roses black?”

  I shrugged again, gaze on the landscape now. “I’m not . . . I don’t . . .” I had to clear my throat, try again. “I’m not sure.”

  “We need to get a sample of the rose petals, have the dye run, and then query that to see what stores sell it.”

  I didn’t look at him and muttered, “There could be hundreds.”

  “It doesn’t matter. At least it’s a starting point. Also, the Mercedes was found out in nowhere land. Why?”

  “Who knows? The perp could be west, north, south, or back in Boston and trying to throw us off for all we know.”

  “Yeah, but like I said, it’s a starting point.”

  I looked at my watch. She’d been missing twenty-four hours
. Things weren’t looking good. “A starting point.” My laugh was harsh.

  The car swerved to the side of the road.

  “What the fuck?”

  Miles got out, came around to my side, opened the door, and yanked me from my seat.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  He shoved me.

  I shoved him back.

  With his hands, he took ahold of me. “You are Killian McPherson’s grandson—act like it, for fuck’s sake. The Killer would be rolling in his grave if he saw the shape you were in over a chick.”

  “Fuck you.” I shoved him harder.

  He moved toward me and put me in a headlock. “She’s just a chick. Either decide you want to find her or give up, but don’t fucking waste my time.”

  “She’s not just a chick!” I shouted.

  His hold got tighter as I struggled to free myself. “Then what is she?”

  “The woman I love!” I managed to scream.

  He released his hold of me and started back for the car. “Then start acting like it.”

  With my hands behind my head, I paced the side of the road, and then with new resolve got back in the car. “Let’s do this. Let’s find her.”

  His cell rang. “Murphy here,” he answered.

  Silence.

  “Organic soil amendments?” he questioned.

  “Yeah, okay, thanks for letting me know.”

  “What’s going on? I asked.

  “Initial lab results have identified either compost or manure in the carpet fibers of the trunk, the backseat, and the driver’s floor mats.”

  I looked at him questioningly.

  “Fertilizer, like the kind used to grow plants and flowers.”

  My mind snapped back to the memory I had the other day of the story my gramps had told me.

  “Holy fuck, that’s it.”

  “What’s it?”

  “How fast can you get us back to Boston?”

  I knew where she was. All we had to do was figure out where the fucking greenhouse was that Mickey O’Shea had held Punchy Leary captive. Elle had to be there.

  Morning faded into afternoon.

  Hours passed.

  I paced, feeling like a storm growing stronger and ready to lash out.

  Miles worked tirelessly on searching county records for greenhouses. There were way more than we had suspected, and none were deeded to Mickey O’Shea.