Almost Infamous (Detective Damien Drake Book 9)

by Patrick Logan

  But Chad didn’t need it anymore.

  Unlike the head and limbs, lifting the torso was awkward. But he didn’t need to bag it up; disposal was easy.

  He opted for the apartment building garbage chute. Sure, it might be traced back to him but that would likely take some time. After all, the lease was in Kenneth’s name and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen any of the neighbors.

  The only person who knew Chad lived here was currently partitioned.

  After dumping the corpse, he returned to the apartment and inspected his handiwork.

  Truth be told, he hadn’t done a great job. There were multiple bloodstains on the carpet, and the entire apartment had a distinct odor to it.

  The knives he had used to dismember Kenneth’s corpse were in the sink, which was speckled with blood.

  But what the fuck did it matter?

  Chad didn’t live here—no way someone with his level of fame would live in this shithole.

  He was moving on to bigger and better things.

  Yet, as he piled the boxes in his arms and started out of the apartment, he turned back for old times’ sake.

  “Goodbye, Tobin,” Chad whispered. “It was nice knowing you.”

  Chapter 56

  “You think we should get the superintendent or something like that?” Leroy asked as they made their way up the apartment stairs.

  “Why? Can’t you just punch down the door?” Drake joked.

  The comment was meant to get a rise out of Leroy and break the uncomfortable silence that had settled over them as soon as they’d left Dr. Alex’s Pet Shoppe. It didn’t work.

  Drake had to remind himself that while Leroy might be young and new at the business, he was technically a partner. And as such, he deserved to be treated like one.

  “I just want to scope out the scene, have a chat with Tobin,” Drake said.

  Leroy seemed to appreciate this more candid approach.

  “Sounds good.”

  They’d made it to the third floor when Drake realized that he hadn’t truly spoken to Leroy since he’d returned. He’d caught up with Hanna, and Screech was obviously dealing with his own shit, but he hadn’t gotten an update from DSLH’s greenest member.

  “You still in school?” Drake cringed. He hadn’t meant to sound like the man’s father, but this was strangely becoming a routine for him.

  First Patty, now Leroy.

  But you are a father… not Leroy’s, of course, but you have a child, Drake, a small voice in his head reminded him. Don’t forget about Clay.

  “Finished,” Leroy replied, obviously trying to end this line of questioning.

  But Drake wasn’t quite done yet.

  “You going to college?”

  It was Leroy’s turn to get lost in his head as they made their way toward Tobin Tomlin’s apartment.

  “Leroy? I asked if you were going to college?”

  “If my mom has her way. But maybe not… I mean, now that Screech has started offering full benefits…”

  Drake looked at the man’s young face, trying to determine if he was joking now.

  Leroy smirked, but didn’t take back the comment.

  “Fuckin’ Screech,” Drake said, shaking his head.

  They arrived at Tobin’s address, as per the file that Dr. Cratom had on the man.

  “What do we do now?”

  Drake moved in front of Leroy.

  “You millennials… you want to ask Google to open the door for you? Alexa, please wipe my ass. How about this, Leroy: we go old school. We just try the knob…”

  Drake chuckled when it turned freely and then he pushed it open. Leroy made a move to step past him and Drake instantly grew serious.

  “Behind me,” he instructed in a no-nonsense voice as he pulled out his gun.

  “Tobin Tomlin, police!”

  This was partly habit and partly because Private Investigator didn’t have the same ring to it.

  “Tobin, if you’re—”

  The smell that struck Drake after just taking a single step into the apartment was so strong that he choked on his own words. It was a mixture of blood and meat, not unlike a large-scale butcher operation.

  Leroy must have smelled it too, as Drake heard the man retch behind him.

  Based on this, Drake changed his order from “Stay behind me”, to, “Stay outside.”

  He leaned his head into the hallway for a big gulp of fresh air, then re-entered Tobin Tomlin’s home, half-expecting to see the man lying motionless in the center of the room, blood leaking out of slit wrists.

  Drake was disappointed; there were copious amounts of blood that someone had done a poor job of trying to clean, but there was no Tobin. Leading with his handgun, he cleared the kitchen first, then continued deeper into the apartment.

  The bathroom was in disarray but the door to the first bedroom had been completely kicked in. The interior was a hot mess, with clothing thrown on the floor and dresser drawers hanging open.

  The second bedroom was a completely different scene: it was immaculate, pristine, even, with a computer desk on one side and a neatly made bed on the other.

  “Leroy, all clear,” he said over his shoulder.

  Leroy, who looked a little paler than usual, hurried to Drake’s side.

  “What the hell happened here?”

  Drake looked back to the massive maroon stain in the middle of the family room.

  “I don’t know, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good.”

  He thought back to Cosmo’s savage murder. Cruelty to animals, especially something as savage as strangling a cat, was just a stepping-stone to further violence. But to progress so quickly, was something of an anomaly.

  Dr. Cratom’s words repeated in Drake’s head.

  I was thinking about something worse…

  “I guess Tobin had a roommate?” Leroy offered.

  “Yeah, looks that way. I just hope…” Drake let his sentence trail off.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. We need to figure out where Tobin went.”

  Leroy nodded and started toward the first bedroom, the one that was in complete disarray. Drake stopped him.

  “No, not that one, this one. This is Tobin’s room,” he said, pointing at the other one.

  “How do you know?”

  It wasn’t just what Dr. Cratom had said about Tobin, about the man’s narcissism, which was often associated with OCD tendencies, but something even more basic that made him so confident.

  “Think about it: you’ve got a man who likes to torture defenseless animals in his spare time… would you fuck up his room?”

  “Maybe he did it to his own shit,” Leroy suggested.

  “No way. This guy is all about image, there’s no chance he would mess up his own stuff.”

  With that, Drake stepped inside. If he’d any doubts about whose room this was, they were immediately dashed. There was nothing personal about anything in the room.

  There were no family pictures, no artwork, no plants, no wall decals, nothing.

  It reminded him of a staged house looking for a quick sale.

  The only thing that he suspected Tobin spent any time on was the computer, so Drake went to it first. A quick swirl of the mouse awoke the monitor, revealing a lock screen.

  “Shit.”

  He could take the computer, bring it to Screech and see what he could do with it, but it was clear from the whole VPN business that Tobin knew how to hide his shit. Not only would it likely be impossible to hack, but, technically, he wasn’t supposed to be here, and taking property from Tobin’s apartment likely wouldn’t go over well with Dunbar or the rest of the NYPD.

  No, he needed to find another way of locating Tobin. He was moving toward the kitchen again when Leroy called out to him.

  “Drake? What about this?”

  Drake turned and saw Leroy holding something that looked like a business card in his hand.

  “Jan Dewalter, Producer and Chief of Talent
Acquisition @Fan Mail Pictures,” Leroy read.

  “Where’d you find that?”

  “Tucked under the corner of the man’s keyboard.”

  Drake wasn’t sure how he’d missed it.

  “Does it have an address?”

  “Sure does.”

  “Alright, then let’s visit this Jan, see if she can tell us where to find Tobin before he kills someone else.”

  “Someone?” Leroy asked with a hard swallow.

  “Yeah, whatever you do, Leroy, don’t look in the sink.”

  Chapter 57

  “We deliver twenty-four hours a day anywhere in the city. But if it’s after midnight—” the man behind the desk with the long greasy hair pulled up into a bun checked the over-sized clock behind him, “—and it is, we ain’t ringing no doorbells. No signature, that kinda shit. Just a photo of the drop. If you don’t like it, come back tomorrow morning. But if that’s kosher, I’ll get your packages out ASAP.”

  Chad licked his lips and glanced down at the boxes stacked at his feet.

  “How long will it take to deliver the packages?”

  He was concerned about the smell.

  “Depends where, bro.”

  “Uh, close. Manhattan.”

  The man tucked a few strands of dark hair into his bun and then shrugged.

  “Coupla hours. Unless it’s breakable, then we gotta wait ‘til morning. Them’s just the rules.”

  Chad’s eyes drifted down to the boxes once more. They looked so… benign.

  “Hey, buddy? You want your noodles delivered or what?”

  Chad looked up.

  “Noodles?”

  Greaseball indicated the boxes with his chin.

  “Your fuckin’ Ramen, or whatever… you want me to get it out tonight? Someone desperate for some midnight snacks?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Please.”

  “Well, if they’re all local, it’s gonna be twenty bucks for each package.”

  Chad breathed a sigh of relief. He’d found a few spare bills in Kenneth’s room, but had less than a hundred bucks to his name. He’d been worried that he would have to resort to stealing a bike or something and deliver the packages himself.

  “Well, at least I won’t have to pay him back,” Chad said with a laugh.

  “What?”

  Chad shook his head and pulled three twenties out of his pocket. One of them had some sort of slime on it, which he promptly wiped off on his jeans.

  The man made a face but accepted the money. Then he slid a sheet of paper and pen across the counter.

  “Name and number, for confirmation. Don’t worry about all that other shit.”

  Chad grabbed the page and under the ‘NAME’ heading he started to write Tobin, before crossing it out.

  He wrote Chad42819 instead and then put his phone number beneath it.

  The man raised an eyebrow upon reading what Chad had written but didn’t say anything.

  “Okay, we’ll send you a photo of each drop in a couple of hours.”

  “Awesome,” Chad replied, unable to suppress another giggle. He turned to leave when the man called him back.

  “Oh, hey, buddy—hey Chad, forty-two or whatever?”

  Still chuckling, he turned.

  He wants an autograph… he wants me to sign something… he knows who I am!

  “Yeah?”

  “I ain’t no doctor, but you might wanna get that checked out.” The man waved a finger across his forehead. “Looks funky AF.”

  Chapter 58

  Drake looked out the windshield at the square, industrial building.

  “What’s the plan here, boss?” Leroy asked from the passenger seat, his eyes also locked on the building. “It’s past midnight, she’s probably not—” a light on the second floor suddenly flicked on, “—here. Okay, maybe it’s not her.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Even though Drake was in no mood to have another gun pointed in his face, the scene at Tobin’s house had increased the desperate nature of the situation.

  He got out of his car and Leroy did the same.

  “What about Dunbar? Should we call Dunbar, tell him what we saw at Tobin’s apartment?”

  Should… but can’t.

  “Not quite yet.”

  Together they walked to the door and Drake’s eyes drifted to the light that was still on.

  Is it her?

  “Hey, Leroy, why don’t you stand over to the side again. But you don’t need to jump out this time.”

  This time is more for your protection than mine.

  “Okay.”

  Drake took a deep breath and stepped up to the door. He didn’t even get a chance to knock before the floodlight came on.

  It was so bright that he was forced to shield his eyes.

  “The door is locked and I’m calling the police. You have ten seconds to get the fuck out of here,” a female voice shouted from inside the building. She sounded more frightened then threatening.

  “Ma’am, I am the police.” The lie was more orchestrated than instinctual this time. To reinforce the point, Drake pulled his PI badge out and held it up. He wasn’t sure if the thick door had a peephole but figured this couldn’t hurt. “NYPD Detective Damien Drake, badge number 7066. Call 9-1-1 and ask to be transferred to 62nd precinct.”

  “What about your friend?”

  Shit.

  Drake gestured for Leroy to join him on the steps, and his partner obliged.

  “NYPD Officer Leroy Walker.”

  Leroy also held up his badge.

  There was a short pause and then a click. The door opened six inches and a wide-eyed woman with blonde hair to her shoulders peered out.

  “It’s about time. I called you guys hours ago, I almost gave up… thought you weren’t going to show. I’ve been too scared to even go outside, afraid that—oh, geez—afraid he was going to come back.”

  This outburst took Drake by surprise.

  “Are you Jan? Jan Dewalter?”

  The woman’s manicured brows lowered.

  “Yes, of course, I—” her eyes suddenly darted to Leroy, who, for some reason, was still holding out his badge. “That’s not a detective shield. What the hell?”

  Before he could intervene, Jan slammed the door closed and locked it.

  “Fuck,” Drake said, glaring at Leroy.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not cops! Did he pay you to come here? To harass me?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Just get away! Go away!”

  Drake sighed and decided to come clean.

  “You’re right, Jan, we’re not cops. We’re not here to hurt you or harass you, either. I was a detective but now both me and my partner Leroy are Private Investigators.” He took his badge out and indicated to Leroy, who now had inexplicably put his badge away, to hold it up again. “These are our ID’s. If you have any questions, dial 9-1-1, ask to be transferred to 62nd precinct, and then to speak to Detective Stephen Dunbar. He’ll confirm who we are.”

  And probably come arrest me, himself.

  “Can you see the badges, Jan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you see our pictures… this is us. Now, grab your phone and call—”

  “If you’re not cops, what are you doing here? What do you want?” Jan was teetering on the brink of hysteria now and Drake knew that he didn’t have long to extract the information he needed from the woman before she broke.

  “We’re looking for someone… for Tobin Tomlin. We think he might—”

  Drake suddenly recalled what Jan had said earlier.

  …afraid he was going to come back…

  “—we just have some questions for him.”

  There was a pause that endured for so long that Drake thought Jan had gone back upstairs. Eventually, however, she spoke up again.

  “You’re looking for Tobin?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Tobin Tomlin. You know him? We found your card at his place, which is what brought u
s here.”

  Another click and the door opened, this time only wide enough for Drake to see one of Jan’s eyes.

  “I don’t know who that is—the guy… his name was Lucas. Lucas Lionell. I just—I don’t want to see him ever again.”

  “What did he do to you?” Drake demanded.

  “I… I… he was trying out for a new reality show… Savage Money… but we-we-we didn’t pick him. He came back… he came back and he was just crazy. He had this scar on his head and he said he’d changed his name. I don’t—if this nice man hadn’t shown up, I-I think Lucas would have grabbed me.”

  Drake was having a hard time following.

  “Slow down, slow down.”

  Jan took a deep hitching breath.

  “He had this crazy look in his eyes, I really thought he was going to hurt me.”

  Drake pictured the knives in Tobin’s kitchen sink, the dark brown stain on the carpet.

  Who the fuck is Lucas Lionell?

  “You said he changed his name,” Leroy said, stepping up. “Was it Tobin? Did he change his name to Tobin?”

  “N-n-no, I don’t know any Tobin. Chad—he said his name was Chad and that Lucas was dead.”

  What were the chances that the only personal thing that Tobin had at his house was Jan’s card, but that she just happened to be harassed by someone else? Then there was the blood, the scar…

  “What time did Lucas or Chad come by?” Drake asked.

  “Around six?” Jan replied in the form of a question.

  Jesus, Jan was so scared that she’s been holed up here for more than six hours?

  “Any idea where he went after here?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “I have no idea. I just didn’t want him to come back.”

  “I get it, I’m sorry that you went through this. Now, I want you to go ahead and call Detective Dunbar, tell him that Drake was here. Then I want you to close the door and lock it. Don’t open it for anyone but him.”

  Jan, still wide-eyed, nodded.

  “Wait,” Leroy said. “Do you have any information on Lucas? You said that he auditioned… did he fill out any forms or anything like that?”

  It took Drake a second to figure out what Leroy was getting at.