The Last Innocent
Rebekah Strong
Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright information
For Rhett
ONE
August
Luke never meant to hate him, but the dead man at his feet left him no choice. Sometimes justice is blind to the wrong things. Cade checked out the easy way and left all the wrong people to pay for his crimes.
Luke looked down at him. A chrome-plated Desert Eagle lay next to the lifeless hand. Blood trickled from a hole in the dead man’s forehead to the bridge of his nose and dripped thickly onto the carpet. Blood speckled the imposing stone hearth but not a drop stained John Cade’s crisp tuxedo shirt.
Across the room, Helen Cade’s body slumped against French doors flanked by heavy drapes. A tangle of bleached hair straggled over eyes staring at nothing. Blood stained the chest of her candy apple red dress the color of a ripe black cherry. She kept her husband’s secrets faithfully, but he killed her anyway.
Luke shook his head as the fog cleared and the brutal reality tore at him. Those secrets were still lethal. They could bring down powerful men and destroy the woman he loved. But now he couldn’t protect her. Every cop in the house just witnessed what Cade said. The dead man had forced his hand, and Luke hated him for it. Luke felt his shoulders pinch.
A wisp of smoke curled in a slow lazy circle from the barrel of the gun in Luke’s hand. The acrid sweet taste of lead coated his throat as the pounding in his ears dissolved into the pounding of feet.
Helmeted men in tactical gear swarmed behind him clearing every inch of the house. He dropped his hands but held onto his gun. Two SWAT guys cleared the room he stood in then dropped their weapons. Luke answered their muted suspicion with a glare, but said nothing. He carried a badge too.
“Luke? You okay?”
At his partner’s anxious tone, Luke realized his fist was still clenched and the trigger pulled back. He relaxed his hand and slipped the Glock into its holster.
Without a word Luke turned and walked away, through the massive foyer, past the dueling staircases and away from his conscience. He shouldered through the heavy oak doors into the humid night air. It stole what little air his lungs still held. Every way he ran the scenario in his head, it ended up costing him everything.
TWO
Two Months Earlier
The wipers swept rainy mist from the windshield as Luke drove. Dark warehouses lined the pitted road. Light from downtown Atlanta bounced off the low clouds bathing Bolton Industrial Park in a faint yellow tinge. Ahead a boarded-up house wearing a dingy coat of peeling white paint sat abandoned. A lone figure pushed a shopping cart, its contents sheltered by quilted garbage bags.
“Look, all I’m saying is if you’re gonna toss out the hotties, at least throw ‘em my way. You got my number. Hook a friend up.” Thaddeus Aulden, Luke’s young partner, tapped on his phone screen and chuckled at something Luke couldn’t see.
“She’s psycho.” Luke pulled the black Impala to the curb between two semi-trucks and cut the engine. He ran his hands through his hair and eyed the homeless man heaving the shopping cart over the curb.
“You always say that. I could use a little crazy.”
“Psycho’s only fun for one night, Kid.”
“Yeah, but what a night,” grinned Thad, “she was smoking. This place, on the other hand, needs to be smoking.” He leaned forward to look past Luke at the apartment complex nestled between two warehouses. He gave a low whistle. “Never gets any prettier.”
“You seem pretty uncomfortable in the hood,” teased Luke.
“Dude, racist much?” Thad grinned. “Man, I grew up picking collards and okra from the garden and noodling catfish. I stick out like a blue tick in a hen house in the projects.”
Irritation replaced the grin on Luke’s face. He never could predict what was going to come out of that kid’s mouth, but it was either funny or stupid. There was no in between. He shook his head and looked in the same direction as Thad grew serious.
“What was he doing here?”
“Let’s go find out,” said Luke. In one smooth motion he opened his door and hopped out into the light rain. He strode across the street and jumped over a stream moving fast down the grimy curb.
Ahead, four multi-story buildings huddled together; residential holdouts in the heavy industrial neighborhood. Peeling brown trim bordered drab yellow brick. More shutters were missing than remained, and dying shrubs dotted forgotten mulch beds. Two red roses on a sparse bush stood defiantly against their monotone backdrop, but there was little else to cheer the eye.
Behind Luke, a muffled yawn dissolved into a loud curse as Thaddeus splashed through the dirty stream of water. “Why do people have to kill themselves when I’m supposed to be in bed?” he whined.
“You weren’t in bed.”
“That’s right,” Thad pulled a face, “his fat ass has been ripenin for a couple of days.”
Luke shook his head again. It happened a lot when Thaddeus opened his mouth. Thad was shorter and stockier than Luke, but powerfully built. His green eyes stood out from his dark skin giving him an exotic look. Thad had been Luke’s partner for a year and an agent for a year and a half. It was Luke’s opinion that he would make an excellent agent with a little time and sense under his belt. He was a good kid, but Thaddeus was born with a defective filter. If he thought it, he usually said it.
“You’re right, I was probably working,” said Thad.
“Or partying.”
“There’s a difference?” Thad grinned. He hopped onto the curb and shook his wet shoe. His navy windbreaker matched Luke’s. Large yellow letters on the back said FBI.
“So, he goes missing for two days and ends up here. What the hell was he doing?” Thad repeated forgetting about his sopping shoe as he stopped beside Luke in front of the derelict apartments.
“I think that's the answer, not the question,” said Luke.
“Huh?”
Luke started across the muddy grounds toward building 4416. The first ‘4’ had lost a screw and hung upside down. Luke pulled open the metal stairwell door, and the odor of twelve different kitchens hit them.
Thad wrinkled his nose. “Oh good, the curried fried chicken tuna casserole ala rotting flesh is on. When’s dinner?”
Luke grabbed the peeling handrail and took the stairs three at a time. At the top landing, he stopped and approached the door marked 22. Two uniformed Atlanta PD officers and a grumpy looking detective turned. The detective had a military style flat top that contrasted with his rumpled Columbo trench. The trio watched until Thad puffed up the last flight.
Luke pulled out his credentials and flashed them as the door to number 20 inched open. A sliver of face appea
red between the door and jamb then it shut again. The five men glanced over but said nothing.
Luke turned back to the rumpled detective. “What’s going on?”
“Thanks for coming out.” The detective’s voice was raspy from a two pack a day habit. “My sergeant’s not going to touch this with a ten-foot pole. Did he give you the reader’s digest version?”
“Enough to know it’s ours.”
“We got a noise complaint around two o’clock Saturday morning from the apartment below, but the door,” he nodded to 22, “was locked and no answer. The officers didn’t have enough to make entry, so they left. A few hours ago, water starts running through the ceiling into the same apartment that called about the noise. Maintenance man goes in expecting a burst pipe, finds a dead body instead. Driver’s license was in his wallet on the chair.” Columbo gave a rattling cough. “Maintenance man didn’t recognize him, thank god.”
“What kind of noise?”
“Thumping or pounding. Downstairs tenants thought the unit was vacant and worried someone broke in.”
“Alright, we’ll take it from here.”
Relief flooded Columbo’s face. “Our case load’s a whore right now. This would bury us. What do you need?”
“Anything unusual I need to know?”
“You mean other than the fact there’s a dead politician and some kinky shit in there? No.”
Thad chuckled, but Luke kept talking. “Alright, let’s keep this quiet as long as we can.” He glanced around at the apartment doors, but they remained shut. “As soon as I finish up here I’ll hand it off to our PR people and let them deal with the press. I don’t want them showing up here.”
“Yeah, that’s why we waited to canvas,” Columbo said.
“Good. Leave me these guys for a few minutes,” he motioned to the uniformed officers. “We’ll do that last. Anyone notify his wife?”
“Not yet.”
“We’re gonna sit on that for now,” Luke turned to Thad, “Where’s the Evidence Response Team?”
Thad popped his phone off his belt and started tapping the screen. Columbo jerked his head toward the door. “Already here.”
Without another word, Luke turned the knob and stepped into the apartment. It was cold inside. The hallway stretched the length of the apartment. An exposed bulb threw a yellow pall over matted carpet and dingy walls. Cheap cabinets and a small fridge peeked out of the first doorway.
“Why are we here?” Thad shivered as soon as Luke closed the door, “this guy was a state senator. If he wants to check out, it’s not our problem. Why isn’t GBI all over this cluster?”
Luke flicked a raindrop from his forehead then grabbed the collar of his windbreaker and gave it a good shake. “He announced his candidacy for U.S. Senate three weeks ago. He’s officially running for national office. Means we own it.” Luke surveyed the dark hallway they stood in.
“Even dead politicians find a way to screw you,” muttered Thad.
“Hot date tonight?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. With your mother.”
“Not your best.” Luke suppressed a smile.
“I know.”
Luke walked the three steps to the kitchen doorway. Faded rooster border curled off the wall and three particleboard cabinet doors sagged on their hinges. A pretty young woman with a ponytail stood in the middle of the room holding a massive Nikon camera that dwarfed her tiny frame. A windbreaker like the men’s topped her green polo and khakis, except hers read ERT. She offered a nervous smile when Luke entered. “Hi,” she said.
Without answering he started poking around the room. She eyed him as he circled the kitchen, squinting and peering into cabinets and under the counter. He stopped in front of the refrigerator.
“The body is in…” she began.
“Did you get this?” He cut her off pointing to a yellow sticky note on the freezer door.
“Um, uh, not yet. I haven’t made over…” She trailed off as Luke walked out of the room through a second doorway that led into the living area. She was staring after him as Thaddeus rounded the corner.
“So, does this mean I don’t have to vote....” He abandoned his sentence and threw his head to one side. Striking an exaggerated sexy pose, he propped his arm up on the doorjamb and puffed out his belly.
“Well, hello there, Meagan,” Thad purred, “See any ‘evidence’ you wanna collect?” He rubbed his belly and shot her a mischievous grin.
Meagan recovered her composure and laughed. “Get the hell out of my picture, Thad.”
“You better get it while the getting’s good. I’m in high demand and I don’t want to break your heart.”
“High demand for what? Jenny Craig before pictures?”
“Ow, hey…” She pointed the camera at him, and he ducked back into the hallway and joined Luke in the living room.
The ratty hallway carpet gave way to worse in the living room. Large dark brown stains and small multi-colored ones dotted the once creamy rug. It looked like someone set off a sprinkler of fruity sodas and never bothered to clean up. Dirty vertical blinds allowed in little of the weak streetlight. The room had no furniture except a heavy 70’s era straight back metal chair with a pleather backrest near the kitchen wall. Two pairs of handcuffs hung from the rear chair legs.
Luke eyed the chair. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he walked through that door, but this was bad. His simple assignment suddenly didn’t feel so simple. Something caught his eye and he knelt by the wall to get a better look.
“Whew. Not the love nest I would have pegged for a senator,” Thad said walking in behind him, “Saint Regis, that’s where you take your hoes.”
Luke popped up and kept moving. Beyond the living room, the hall led past a bathroom. Wet carpet squished beneath his feet as he approached. Luke ducked in.
It was dirtier than the kitchen, used regularly without benefit of regular cleaning. Luke opened the medicine cabinet first. Empty. So was the cabinet under the sink. A cheap plastic trashcan stood beside the sink with scraps of toilet paper in it. Luke leaned over and examined its contents. A pile of used condoms and wrappers lay inside. He glanced into the shower, which had no shower curtain, then turned his attention to the toilet.
Clear water brimmed the top of the bowl. Floating inside was a hypodermic needle, a charred spoon and what looked like a blue scarf. The stretchy fabric had been too much for the plumbing. Small puddles pooled all over the floor out to the hall.
The door to the only bedroom sat at the end of the hall. A flash erupted from inside the room as they approached it. A tall, twiggy man stood in the far corner holding a large camera. His jacket also read ERT.
“Hey, guys.” The man’s flaming red hair clashed with his blue jacket and bumped up on the sides emphasizing his expanding bald spot. Freckles coated his pale skin.
“Hey, Sean,” said Thad, “What’s shakin?”
“Sean.” Luke nodded in his direction and reached in his pocket for gloves. Thad crossed the room and began talking to Sean. Luke tuned them out as he studied the room. If the chair gave him a bad feeling, it paled next to what this room inspired.
At some point in their history, the walls had been white. A newer but cheap mattress and box spring set lay on the carpet against the wall. A dark blue fitted sheet with several large stains covered the mattress.
Deck screws anchored two 4x4’s to wall studs at the head of the mattress. Four heavy-duty eye hooks poked out of the posts at varying heights. Three of the hooks had long lengths of thick nylon rope tied to them. A leather collar, a length of chain and assorted scarves scattered across the floor. A vicious looking whip made of knotted leather lay tossed in the corner.
To the right, the closet door was long gone. A metal rod ran the width of the deep closet below an empty shelf. One end of the fourth nylon rope was tied securely to the closet rod. The other end dug into the ample neck of the late Georgia State Senator Cecil Twomey.
The rotund body had been th
ere for a while. The dead man’s face was dark purple, but his arms were the macabre yellow and gray fusion unique to decaying human flesh. His hands hung straight down and the forearms to his fingers were the same deep shade of eggplant as his face.
The dead man's tailored khaki pants were unbuttoned at his thick waist. His socked feet dragged out behind him, knees inches off the floor. Luke was amazed the closet rod supported the man’s weight.
Crossing the room, Luke knelt beside the body. After all this time the fetid smell of a dead body still made his stomach lurch. He blinked hard then craned his head to examine the corpse. No wounds were visible, but thin pale lines circled each purple wrist. The dead man had sat in the living room chair before he died, cuffed. Luke reached out and touched a cold hand. The whole body swayed as though frozen solid.
“He’s in full rigor and lividity is fixed. I’d say he’s been here between twelve and twenty-four hours. I'd bet closer to twenty-four since the air conditioning is turned way down,” Sean offered, not expecting an answer.
He got a “hmm” in reply as Luke stood and turned.
A pillowcase matching the bedsheets hung over the small window held in place by thumbtacks. Beneath the window sat another metal chair identical to the one in the living room. An expensive brown suede sport coat hung on the back, and leather penny loafers sat on the floor beside it. A small pile of items lay heaped on the seat. Luke approached the chair and studied it.
“Man, you gotta be one motivated sombitch to hang yourself when your feet still touch the floor,” Thad muttered, “that’s when you know it’s bad.”
“I knew it was bad when I heard Simon put him on this,” Sean indicated Luke absorbed in the contents on the chair. “You don’t bring in the Bulldog on just anything.”
“Bulldog?” Meagan joined them and eyed Luke who was twisting on all fours to see under the chair without touching it.
Thad gave her a cheesy grin then dropped it when she scowled at him. “It’s his nickname. Well, his unofficial nickname. He doesn't know we call him that.”
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