by Nancy Bush
“Nothing else?” Ricky demanded.
“Not that I can think of.”
“Shadowing Keppler was the extent of your job for Bibi?” Haynes asked.
Mac hesitated, wondering if there was a condemnation in there somewhere, but she decided to take him at his word and admitted that yes, so far, but that she’d learned Rayne had other ex-boyfriends and she was planning on looking into the list, just hadn’t started yet.
“You’re acting like a private . . . dick,” accused Richards.
“I have an obligation to a friend. Bibi didn’t believe Rayne died from taking a selfie.”
At that moment Haynes’s cell buzzed and he looked at it before answering, “Haynes.” Listening, he shot Mackenzie a look she couldn’t interpret, then said, “Send him back.”
“Who?” Richards asked as Haynes clicked off.
“Jesse Taft.”
“Jesus!” Ricky declared. To Mac, he accused, “You did this!”
“I didn’t ask him to come.”
“But you called him,” he insisted.
She could hardly deny it. “Yes,” she admitted.
“All right,” Haynes interrupted. “We’ll hear what he has to say.”
Mackenzie glowered at Richards. She was half amazed, half glad that Taft was showing up.
They all fell silent and a few minutes later Taft pushed through the door into the squad room. He looked around himself and said conversationally, “Never been back here.”
Richards snorted his disdain.
Taft regarded him with a neutral look that could have meant anything. Detective Haynes wasn’t waiting to find out and stepped in before more could be said. “You know about the fire and Bibi Engstrom’s death.”
“Yes. Where’s her husband?” Taft asked.
“The morgue,” said Haynes. “Mackenzie was just telling us how Bibi had asked her to investigate Rayne Sealy’s death.”
“Were you on that case?” Ricky demanded of Taft.
“No. But I knew Laughlin was.”
“Yeah?” Ricky looked from Taft to Mackenzie and back again. Mac could practically see the wheels turning in his mind.
“I told her I’d help her, if she needed it. Looks like she might need it. So I came.”
“Bibi first came to me because she thought I was still a cop,” Mac reminded them all. She was feeling raw and wanted answers, maybe answers no one had, but she needed to be in the forefront.
“Did you ever tell her you quit?” That was from Ricky, ever belligerent where Mac was concerned.
“Immediately, when she asked me to find Rayne.”
“You said you were friends, and it had never come up before?” Ricky glanced toward Haynes with a look of disbelief on his face.
Mac said carefully, “I thought I made it clear that we weren’t that close.”
“Trying to distance yourself from her now?” Ricky tried to intimidate her by staring her down.
“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. Officer Mac’s now under suspicion?” Taft drawled.
“No,” Haynes said succinctly to him.
Taft added, “Maybe she should have a lawyer.”
“Laughlin is not under investigation. Everybody take a step back,” said Haynes. To Taft, he added, “Mackenzie told you about Bibi Engstrom’s death tonight?”
Taft nodded. “Was the garage fire purposely set?”
“We don’t know yet,” Ricky was quick to answer.
“Carbon monoxide? Car running? Source of ignition?” Taft looked from one to the other of them.
“We don’t know yet,” Ricky repeated with an edge.
The adrenaline that had been fueling Mackenzie’s energy was dropping off. She wanted to collapse, maybe even cry. She’d experienced the same sag on the job during especially stressful moments and had learned ways to cope with it, but this felt different. Though she and Bibi hadn’t been close friends, they had been friends, of a sort. And now she was gone. She remembered the hollow look on Haynes’s face after delivering news of Rayne’s death to her mother and sister. Hard duties. Emotions could be contained but they existed. She fought for a neutral expression.
Taft asked Haynes, “Got any suspicions?”
“No,” Ricky snapped. “Like I said—”
Haynes interrupted, “Bibi’s body was in the car. Everything was burned and wet. An errant spark could have set off the carbon monoxide. Could be a suicide. Could have been deliberately set to look like suicide. Could be a homicide. If it was an accident, I’ll be surprised.” Ricky looked at Haynes in stupefaction as Haynes added, “Thanks, Richards. It was above and beyond to join me at the scene. I can handle things from here.”
Ricky’s face flooded red. Mackenzie had seen that before, when her partner thought he had everything under control and then was suddenly blindsided. He said, “I don’t mind,” each word bitten off.
Taft was looking from Haynes to Ricky and back again. Like Mackenzie, he was watching the power play with interest.
“We’re about done here.” Haynes was pleasant but firm.
Ricky had no choice but to straighten up and move toward the door. He hesitated before pushing through and his gaze fell hard on Taft, as if he were the problem.
Never one to shirk from a challenge, Taft asked, “Got something you want to say to me?”
“You’ve been fired twice. I think that says it all.” With that he strong-armed his way through the door and out of the squad room.
Taft said, “Factually incorrect, as I assume he means my two stints working in law enforcement. I have been fired by clients in investigative services, however, so maybe that’s what he meant.”
“Let’s call it a night,” said Haynes. “We’ll know more when forensics gets back to us.”
“Why do you think it’s not an accident?” Mackenzie asked him.
“Seemed staged, I guess. Just a feeling more than anything.” He gave Taft a long look. “My advice to you: Don’t get in the way. There are a lot of people who share Richards’s view. You work for some shady clients. But if you learn anything, come to me first.” He swept his gaze to include Mackenzie. “You got that?”
“Yes,” said Mac.
Taft gave Haynes a curt nod.
Ten minutes later Mackenzie and Taft were outside the station and heading to their cars, each at opposite ends of the parking lot. Mac was walking to her SUV, then stopped in her tracks. She turned back and started to head inside the station once more, but saw that Taft had slowed his steps and was watching her.
She walked toward him. “I have something I need to do.”
“You’re going to talk to Haynes some more?”
“No. I have to go back in and talk to somebody else. Nothing to do with this. Thanks for . . . coming, but I really didn’t need you.”
“Didn’t you?” In the darkness, with his face half turned away, she couldn’t see if he was joking or not. “Who are you talking to?”
“Not your business.”
“True. But who are you talking to?”
“Good night, Taft.” Mackenzie headed for the door just as Cooper Haynes’s Explorer pulled around from the back of the department where the city rides and the staff’s personal vehicles were parked. He held up a hand in goodbye to them as he left.
“Good night, Officer Laughlin . . .” said Taft.
She found herself gritting her teeth as she headed back into the department. Colleen was just going off duty and another woman was taking her place.
“The Battle-axe?” Mackenzie asked Colleen and the other woman, whose nametag read: JANA.
Jana glanced at Mackenzie with alarm and looked to Colleen for direction. Colleen nodded and said she would remind her that Mackenzie wanted to talk to her. As she walked through the door to dispatch, the new woman gave Mac a curt nod. Mac was pretty sure if she tried to explain that political correctness wasn’t the issue she would be coolly ignored.
Barbara Erdlich, the Battle-axe, followed Colleen back
into reception with brows lifted, headset in place. Mac said, “I wanted to talk to you about Katy?”
“Katy Keegan?”
Mac nodded. “You took her place.”
There was something in the Battle-axe’s eyes that said she’d registered the point of Mac’s questions. Mac hurriedly gave her her phone number and said to call her anytime. The Battle-axe could decide whether she wanted to wade into the he said/she said between her boss and some of the women who’d worked in his department.
By the time Mac was back outside she expected to see that Taft had gone, but no, he was leaning against the back of his Rubicon, one foot on the bumper, waiting for her.
“I don’t need a keeper,” she told him.
“You going after Bennihof?”
“You’re starting to piss me off.”
“You are.”
“Stop.” She turned toward her RAV4, but Taft was hard to put off.
“I can get you in touch with Katy.”
“I don’t need you, Taft,” she rounded on him, all the frustration of the night rising up in a wave of emotion. “Let’s get something straight. I have my own life. I have my own choices. I’m working for you. That’s it. Leave me alone.”
“Mackenzie . . .”
The fact that he said her first name stopped her cold. He’d straightened from his lounging position.
“What?” she managed.
“I’m calling off the surveillance on Keppler.”
“What?” she repeated blankly. “Why?”
“He’s in a holding pattern. I’ve got another angle I’m working.”
“What angle?”
“I’ll call you.”
“So, I’m not working?”
“Not right now.”
She watched him climb in the Rubicon, back out, and drive away. Had she just been fired? She’d just been fired!
Mac threw herself into her own SUV, then found she was shivering as she sat behind the wheel. Damn the man. He’d pushed her and she’d pushed back because she couldn’t push at whatever or whoever had killed Bibi. She wanted answers. And action. A plan forward.
To hell with Jesse James Taft.
She switched on the ignition and drove back to her mother’s house. The thought of dealing with Dan the Man was so depressing, she almost turned around and headed for a motel. Instead she pulled out her phone and looked up the numbers of nearby apartments complexes she knew in River Glen and Laurelton. Too late to do anything tonight, but she determined she would make the change tomorrow. No more living in limbo. She was taking charge of her own life. She had enough cash for first month’s rent . . . maybe last month’s, too . . . maybe . . .
Maybe you should try another police department. Laurelton?
Setting her jaw, she pulled into the driveway, thoughts awhirl. What she was going to do was follow up on Bibi Engstrom’s death, and Rayne Sealy’s, and see if there was any connection. She was off the Keppler case for Taft. Fine. Didn’t mean she couldn’t still keep after him. Maybe she should make contact. Something.
As if the universe was in tune to her needs, her phone started ringing. At nearly midnight. To her alarm, she saw it was Stephanie’s number.
“Stephanie?” she answered in a careful tone. Her stepsister who mainly texted, rarely called.
“Sorry, Mac. Didn’t mean to scare you,” she whispered, responding to Mackenzie’s tone. “Nothing bad. Just wanted you to know . . . Nolan doesn’t want me to tell, it’s so early . . . I’m pregnant! Don’t mention it to Mom. It’s kind of a surprise, but oh, my God! I’m just in disbelief. And thrilled! Yes! Isn’t it crazy! I can’t believe it. And you . . . you’re going to be an auntie!”
CHAPTER TEN
Thad sat in front of the computer screens in his safe room. His eyes were unnaturally still on the images that spread over the three screens. He didn’t see them. He was envisioning the events of the last few weeks, savoring each one, and his heart was beating hard and fast, his blood hot.
He’d been reliving his two kills and his mind had now drifted to the woman he’d met at the Waystation the week earlier. He had a photographic memory and he was recalling the way the pockets of her jeans curved over her butt, the hint of breast beneath the shirt, the hollow of her throat, the “come fuck me” message in her eyes. Thinking about her along with his “kills” had kept him amped most of the day.
With an effort, he came out of his fog. He blinked twice, then felt the cowboy hat still on his head. Carefully he removed the hat and placed it on the metal shelf against the back concrete wall. His safe room was a basement space that ran along the back of the house, a lair that his mother called the dungeon. It had a secret door and steps down to a bomb shelter that his father—God rest his fucked-up soul—had installed in preparation for the end of the world.
He looked over at the wall, at the whiteboard he’d installed. There was one word written on it—Rayne—in bright red Sharpie ink. He shivered. He’d gone on the dark web and ordered “knockout drops,” probably Rohypnol, they hadn’t specified, and he’d brought those drops with him the day he’d killed her, but hadn’t had to use them. He’d just had them for backup in case she blabbed. He couldn’t have her blabbing . . . gossiping about him . . . telling the world about his flaws . . .
Thad felt the end of the world was near. Life was hard for a lot of people and he couldn’t see it getting any better. For a time he’d even tried surviving the coming apocalypse, squirreling himself in the safe room, drinking bottled water and K rations that his father had filled the place with before he’d slipped a rope through the metal ring screwed into the safe room’s ceiling and hung himself.
Thad looked up at that ring. “Rest in peace, asshole,” he growled, then walked to the end of the long, narrow room where two other rings were also screwed into the concrete ceiling, much the same way. He jumped up and grabbed a ring with each hand, then went through his routine of pulling himself up and extending his legs in front of him in an L-shape, just like the Olympics. He did a number of reps that had him sweating like a pig. He then used the toilet in his safe room and stripped naked before heading up the stairs to the laundry room–cum bathroom–cum mechanical room at the top of the stairs. He threw his clothes in the washer, then stepped into the adjoining shower, turning the water on cold first until he was practically frozen, then steaming hot until he could no longer bear it. Only then did he step out, dry off, throw the towel into the washer, put in some soap, flip the machine on.
Lorena would be back soon. Thad made a face. He didn’t like his mother and she didn’t like him, but they shared a common outlook: The world fucking sucked. Thad had used his monumental hacking skills to get back at the world. He could extort money from miserable, fledgling businesses who didn’t know the first thing about a firewall and he could infect them with malware and hold them for ransom. He’d amassed enough money to make himself rich, but an investment in Bitcoin had gone sour, tumbling in price, causing him to lose damn near all of it. He’d been working his way back, but cautiously, now. Government and private cybersecurity was getting to be more and more of a risk, so he had to proceed with caution and it was pissing him off. If the old lady would just up and die and leave the house to him—he’d sneaked a peek at her will and learned that Lorena had been bypassed—then he could sit back a little and concern himself with other issues of greater interest, but no . . . she just lived on and on. It made him slightly crazy. She was past being anything but a drain on society. She should just go. In his loveliest dreams he thought of how he could sneak into that old people’s assisted living commune and choke the life from her, but so far it hadn’t been feasible. He’d even tried, sort of haphazardly, visiting her from time to time, hoping to hasten her along, but he hadn’t had an opening.
So, while she lived on, he’d passed the time counting out the long days, waiting for something to happen. He felt the familiar low-level rage rise up inside him. A taste of bile in his mouth. He, Thaddeus Charles Jenkins, smart
er than everyone else, was pissing his life away waiting for his grandmother to die. What a massive waste. If that Bitcoin debacle hadn’t happened, if he could have gotten out sooner . . .
He shook his head, pulling himself back from the rim of an abyss he sensed just outside his consciousness. If he should ever fall inside . . . He wasn’t sure what would happen but he knew it would be apocalyptic. He couldn’t risk it.
He’d turned his attention to Rayne Sealy to combat his lava-like inner fury. He’d first seen Rayne at Ridge Pointe. She’d worked there for a short time. She hadn’t been aware of him because he’d made a point of skulking through the place, almost holding his breath. He hated old people. Hated the way they looked and smelled. Hated the way they talked about nothing except the good old days. What good old days? Thad had never experienced any of them to date and wouldn’t until his grandmother fucking died.
And then he’d caught sight of Rayne making out with that long-haired asshole outside the front doors as he was driving away one day. He’d wanted to jump out and club the guy to death, he’d felt so possessive, but he’d kept going. He couldn’t afford to make a scene at Ridge Pointe. They knew him there.
But then Rayne had been let go and gone to work at Good Livin’ where she’d taken up with Seth Keppler. Fucker. Thad was disgusted with Rayne. She was indiscriminate and loose. Low morals. It wasn’t the way women were supposed to be.
But he couldn’t get her out of his head. So disgusting . . . and yet, he wanted her. Once upon a time she’d been above him and treated him like an insect or worse . . . but things had definitely changed, hadn’t they? Who was the cockroach now, Rayne? He’d wanted to squash her. Wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze. Cover her mouth to keep her from talking, uttering all those careless junior high, mean girl invectives, words that spewed from between her filthy, sewer lips.
Rayne then lost her job at Good Livin’ because of Keppler. Thad hadn’t known exactly what happened until she’d told him about it later. Patti, who worked at the front desk, apparently had enough clout at the health club to get her fired. Patti had had her eye on Seth and Rayne, true to form, had jumped into Seth’s bed before Patti could make her move. At least that’s the way Rayne told it. The result was Rayne got her ass kicked out of Good Livin’ and had ended up slinging lattes for the masses at the Coffee Club. Ha! Oh, how far she’d come down from those long ago days in elementary school when she’d held sway over the whole class. He lived to see her on the bottom. Good old Rayne. One of the girls who’d made his life a living hell so long ago. She and her group of friends had tortured him. Not the good kind of torture. Not the kind that made you want to moan with ecstasy. The bad kind. The humiliating kind.
