Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 2

by Patrick Logan

  Drake squinted at the officer, and realized that he looked oddly familiar.

  “Drake was brought on this case as a Special Consultant,” Yasiv answered for him. “His experience with the Skeleton King should prove invaluable. I also wanted to mention—”

  “Don’t you think that’s conflict of interest?” The young man said, rising to his feet.

  “Conflict of interest?” Yasiv asked

  The young man stepped away from his chair and into the open.

  “Yeah, a conflict of interest. You know, because he knocked up Clay’s wife.”

  Drake’s entire body tensed, his face turned a deep crimson, and then he lunged at the officer.

  Chapter 21

  The young officer was strong, but Drake had fury on his side. He drove his shoulder into the man’s sternum, sending them both flying backward. When they landed, the air was knocked out of Drake’s lungs and he was momentarily paralyzed. The officer beneath took this opportunity to sweep him, and he ended up on top. Then he corked Drake on the side of his head.

  Drake saw stars, but the impact shocked his diaphragm into contracting and when the officer reared back to punch again, he bucked. The man’s hips lifted, and Drake drove his elbow into his groin. His eyes rolled back and he instinctively grabbed at his genitals. Drake used this opportunity to shove the man completely off him. He was aware that people were grabbing at him now, holding his arms, but Drake didn’t care, and it didn’t slow him down, either. He started to punch the officer and even though his movements were restricted, he still managed to split the man’s lip and send a geyser of blood squirting from one nostril before someone yanked him completely free.

  Drake stopped resisting and allowed himself to be pulled backward, his breath coming in short bursts from between clenched teeth. And then, when he felt the grip of the person holding him relax, he lunged again and managed to slip his left hand out just far enough to crack the officer in the ribs with another solid blow.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Yasiv yelled. It was only then that Drake realized the Yasiv was the man holding him. “Drake, get control of yourself.”

  Drake gritted his teeth and tried to shrug Yasiv off, but this time there was no relaxing. He was being held in a half-nelson so tight that it was difficult to breathe.

  “I’m calm,” he croaked.

  DI Palmer stepped between them and held his arms out at either side like some sort of referee.

  “Just what in the hell is going on?” Palmer’s inquiry went ignored.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Drake snapped, his eyes locked on the young officer with the bloody lip and nose.

  “Paul Kramer,” he said, and then spat blood onto the floor.

  Something clicked in Drake’s head.

  He had never met Paul Kramer before, but the boy looked familiar because he was clearly related to Kevin Kramer. And Kevin Kramer had been Clay’s partner, before he had retired and Drake took his spot.

  Kramer’s eyebrows rose.

  “Oh, now you know who I am, don’t you? Why don’t you—”

  Yasiv let go of Drake.

  “Keep your mouth shut, Kramer,” Yasiv ordered. “You keep your mouth shut or I’m going to have you suspended.”

  Paul looked as if he was going to say something, but in the end, he bit his tongue. The men who were holding him and cooler heads finally prevailed.

  Only DI Palmer seemed poised for action now, his hands still out like an idiot.

  “Take a walk, Kramer,” Yasiv instructed.

  Paul finally pulled his gaze away from Drake and glared at the Sergeant.

  “Me? What about him? He’s not even one of us. He’s not even a cop.”

  Sergeant Yasiv pointed at the door.

  “Take a walk, Kramer. I won’t ask you again.”

  Paul looked as if he was about to say more, but only growled before bowing his head and leaving the room. He slammed the conference room door so hard that a laptop on the table jumped.

  “Anybody else have a problem with Damien Drake?” Sergeant Yasiv demanded. “If anybody else has a problem, say something now, because I don’t want anything to fuck up this investigation. We have one fucking day—one fucking day—until another skeleton shows up.”

  No one spoke up.

  “Good, then let’s get this fucking meeting going. Fuck.”

  Yasiv shook his head and indicated for the officers and detectives to take their seats. Drake reluctantly made his way to the front of the room again, as did Yasiv and Palmer.

  “For now,” he began, his face finally returning to its normal shade, “it’s best if we consider this a new case. We can, and should, use Drake’s knowledge about the previous victims, and still look for connections, but let’s focus on Simmons. I doubt I have to say this out loud, but let’s get this bastard. He killed one of our own, and for that, he’s going to pay.”

  Two of our own, Drake thought.

  “DI Palmer’s presence is the Captain’s way of telling us that we have all of the NYPD behind us. And he has promised us that we will have any and all resources that we need.”

  Yasiv turned to Palmer then, but the man was suddenly preoccupied with his cell phone.

  Drake frowned.

  Who the fuck is this guy?

  “So, let’s work backwards, then. When is the last time any of you saw Detective Simmons?”

  A young detective raised his head and Drake saw that his cheeks were wet with tears. After all this talk of skeletons, somehow Simmons had become just that: bones, and not a person.

  Maybe that was the point. Dehumanize him as much as possible.

  “I had lunch with him on Tuesday,” the young man said quickly.

  Yasiv pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “All right, so that was two days ago. Anybody know if he supposed to work on Wednesday?”

  The same officer answered.

  “No; he said he had the day off. Mentioned something about going for a swim.”

  “A swim?”

  The man shrugged.

  “He likes to swim,” his voiced hitched. “Liked.”

  “All right, that’s something,” Yasiv said, tapping his foot. “I’ll speak to Simmons’s wife. I assume that she saw him recently, because so far, no one has called looking for him.”

  Drake checked his watch. It was coming up to eleven.

  Twenty-two hours until the next body shows up.

  “I want every one of you guys out there on the streets. No one sleeps until we catch this guy. Push every one of your contacts, use every CI that you can find—old ones, new ones, those in prison, don’t care. Now go, let’s catch this guy before he kills again.”

  Chapter 22

  Drake took a sip of his mickey and stared at the photographs that he had pasted about the room. Despite what Yasiv had said, Drake had decided that the more information that they could glean from the previous victims, the better.

  Photos of all seven of the first victims were posted, and after some contemplation, and a considerable gap, he also put up Clay’s picture. After another large space, he added Simmons’s.

  Beneath each, he listed the location the skeleton had been found, the victim’s name, if known, and any pertinent demographic information. On his third pass, just as he was finishing the mickey, he wrote facts about each of the victims, things that they had learned from either their parents or their friends. Only when Drake came to Clay’s photo, he paused. Ever since his murder, Clay had been haunting him, making him second-guess the way he’d acted that night.

  If I hadn’t been so damn stubborn, he’d likely be alive today.

  And just when Drake thought he had finally broken free, with Jasmine of all people, the stale fingers of despair had grabbed him and pulled him back.

  There was no escaping his demons, Drake knew; not now, not ever.

  He left the column about Clay’s personal life blank, telling himself that everyone in the precinct already knew about him.

&
nbsp; After he was done, he took out the photographs from the most current crime scene, the brownstone in which Simmons had been found, and looked through them.

  He stopped when he saw a close-up shot of a pool ball. Slipping his notepad out of his pocket, he went over his notes.

  Two sixes, a five, the eight ball, a nine, a one.

  Drake tapped the page with his finger.

  This has to be a message, he thought. Everything else was so neatly arranged, and yet—

  The door to the conference room swung open and Drake turned.

  An exhausted looking Sergeant Yasiv burst in and was about to say something before he noticed Drake’s handiwork.

  “You been here all night?” he asked.

  Drake figured the question was rhetorical and didn’t bother answering.

  Yasiv nodded, likely to himself.

  “Look, I’m sorry about what happened with—”

  “It’s fine,” Drake said. “It’s my fault, anyways.”

  Yasiv nodded again and walked around the room, spending a few moments in front of each image. When he was done, he came over to Drake and observed the photo of the pool balls.

  “Drake, what were the balls, again?”

  As Drake read the sequence, Yasiv made his way to the chalkboard and copied the numbers.

  The two of them stared at the sequence without saying anything for several moments.

  Then Yasiv scribbled something beneath the numbers: telephone.

  He hesitated, then added, GPS coordinates, beneath that.

  Drake stood, took the piece of chalk from Yasiv. He added address, and beneath that, bank account, to the list.

  After another moment, he listed ‘code’ at the bottom.

  Yasiv reached over and tapped the two ‘6’s.

  “If it were just six balls in the pockets, I would think that maybe the stagers were fucking around or something. Took the other balls with them. But this… two ‘6’ balls? You’d have to go out of your way to get another 6,” Yasiv said, verbalizing Drake’s internal monologue for him.

  Drake agreed.

  “Yeah, someone’s trying to tell us something. But what.”

  Silence fell over the two of them.

  Yasiv eventually cleared his throat.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some rest, Drake,” he offered. “It can be a long night and—”

  Drake tossed the empty mickey across the room. It landed in the garbage with a plastic chink.

  “I’m fine,” he said, checking his watch. “We’ve only got eighteen hours.”

  “Okay, but so long as you’re still working, I think you’re missing a picture up there.”

  Drake narrowed his eyes.

  “Peter Kellington. I know how you feel about him, about how you’re convinced he’s not the killer, but he’s involved somehow. Either his hair was planted or he was there. You should put his photo up.”

  Drake chewed the inside of his lip. The fact was, if he put his own feelings aside, what Yasiv was saying made sense. With a heavy sigh, he nodded.

  “I’ve got some files on the prick back at Triple D. I’ll bring them in.”

  Yasiv looked at him then, sadness clinging to his young features.

  “Don’t be afraid to get some sleep when you’re there.”

  Drake turned and started to the door.

  “And thanks for helping us with this, Drake. I know you take this personally, but it’s personal to all of us.”

  Chapter 23

  It was nearly four am by the time Drake made it back to Triple D Investigations. The light was off and the door locked.

  And yet, when Drake entered, he realized that it wasn’t completely dark inside. The monitor on Screech’s desk was still on. He walked over to it, and then stopped when he saw the outline of a figure slumped in the chair.

  “Screech?” He said quietly.

  The man sat bolt upright so quickly that his chair rebounded and he was flung forward and nearly smashed into the computer.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Drake!” Screech hollered. “You’re going to give a guy a fucking coronary!”

  Drake chuckled to himself despite everything.

  “What the hell are you still doing at the office?”

  His eyes darted to the computer monitor.

  “Can’t you get porn at home?”

  Screech quickly shut off the monitor, sending them both into darkness.

  “So, it’s gonna be like that, huh,” Drake said.

  Screech flicked on his desk lamp while Drake walked over and turned the incandescent lighting on. It flickered, blinked, but thankfully stayed lit.

  “Good to see that you’re at least paying the power bill.”

  Screech didn’t laugh, didn’t even come back with a witty retort, which was unusual for him. Drake stared at his partner for a moment, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes, circles that not even the tan that he had somehow managed to maintain since coming back from the Virgin Gorda months ago, managed to conceal.

  Screech eventually averted his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Reality came crashing back, manifesting itself as a body-racking sigh.

  “There’s been another murder, Screech. The Skeleton King is back.”

  Screech leaped to his feet.

  “What? What do you mean? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Drake bowed his head and told him about Detective Simmons, about the bone cemented to his skull.

  When Drake was done, Screech said, “But how is that possible, Drake, you shot—”

  Drake turned his back to Screech.

  “I guess we got the wrong guy,” he said as he entered his office. He hadn’t been there for so long that it smelled a little bit of mold and mildew.

  “Drake, listen man, if there’s anything I can do…” Screech offered, coming up behind him.

  Drake scratched his beard and turned.

  “You know what? There might be something you can do. Simmons wasn’t found in his house, but in an unoccupied building owned by a holdings company or corporation or something. Maybe you can figure out who actually owns it? Dunbar is working on it, too, but with all the regulations…”

  Screech nodded.

  “Yeah, I can probably find out who owns it. What’s the address and what’s the company?”

  “Uh, 9th and W 21st. Don’t remember the number exactly, but it’s on W 21st. I can get the info from Yasiv if you need it.”

  “That should be good enough. What about the company?”

  “ANGUIS,” Drake said hesitantly, trying to remember exactly what Yasiv had told him.

  “You’re going to spell that, I hope.”

  Drake shrugged.

  “A–N–G–U–I–S, I guess. Something like that, anyway.”

  Screech nodded.

  “Got it.”

  Drake was about to turn back to his office, to collect his files on Peter Kellington, when he noticed that Screech was still standing in the doorway, staring at him.

  “You all right?”

  Screech looked down.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, Drake. Something about the boat… about B-yacht’ch. When I was on the—”

  Drake held up his hand.

  “I don’t have time for this, Screech. I’ve got a half a day to catch this guy before he kills again,” he took a deep breath. “Besides, we told Bob Bumacher we’d be discrete.”

  Screech still didn’t budge from the doorway.

  Drake sighed.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter what was on the boat, Screech. We were hired to find the boat, that’s it. Nothing else. You—we didn’t look for anything, we didn’t see anything, we didn’t take anything. We found the boat and brought it back for the man. That’s it.”

  Screech bowed his head and pressed his lips together tightly. Then he nodded.

  “Good, now can you please stop watching porn and figure out who the hell owns ANGUIS Ho
ldings.”

  Chapter 24

  By the time Drake was finally done in the conference room, the first of the detectives had arrived for the morning debriefing.

  Several of them grumbled hello to him as they entered, followed by curious glances at his appearance.

  Drake didn’t even acknowledge them.

  Yasiv came in not fifteen minutes after the first detectives and handed Drake a cup of coffee. Drake took it with a nod of thanks. When he finally got around to taking a sip, he was surprised by the taste profile.

  It had bourbon in it.

  Okay, Drake thought.

  At seven-thirty, all of the parties had arrived except for DI Palmer.

  Drake leaned over and whispered to Yasiv, “Where’s Palmer?”

  Yasiv just shook his head before addressing the group.

  “Okay, we’re going to get started. But first, before I begin, I just want to stress that nothing that is said here today, or any other day, leaves this room. And this isn’t one of those things where you talk to your girlfriend or boyfriend or husband or whatever in passing, third person, any of that bullshit. Nothing leaves the room. Got it?”

  Everyone nodded, including Drake.

  When Yasiv continued, his voice had lowered an octave.

  “I spoke to Mrs. Simmons last night, and as you can imagine, she’s pretty floored by the news of her husband’s death. Devastated. But,” Yasiv hesitated, “I didn’t see any of his shoes in the entrance, nor his coat. Also, when I asked her about the last time she had seen him, she said that he had ‘popped in’ before work on Tuesday. She didn’t even know he was fucking missing. Truthfully, I get the impression that he hadn’t stayed there in a while. Like he was in the doghouse, if you know what I mean.”

  A murmur broke out among the men, but Yasiv quickly stifled it.

  “Dunbar? What about footage from the precinct?”

  Detective Dunbar stood.

  “He left after work on Tuesday, like we already know, but he also came back early Wednesday morning.”

  Drake raised an eyebrow.

  “He arrived around seven, then went to the evidence room. Left again less than a half hour later.”