by Karen Rose
Gemma’s overly bright eyes narrowed. ‘She’s with her daddy.’ It was a warning for Mallory to stay away. But then Gemma sidled up to Mallory and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I came to pick up a few last-minute items for Macy’s birthday. You have such good taste. Would you mind helping me?’
The lie was so blatant, Mallory nearly broke down there and then. She knows. She knows I wanted to use the phone. That I wanted to tell.
No, that was ridiculous. How could she possibly know? But it didn’t matter in the end. What mattered was that Gemma was plastered to her side and looking like she didn’t plan to leave. There would be no phone call today.
But the kids were coming over tomorrow. Four of them.
He won’t touch them tomorrow. Tomorrow is movies and pool play. But what if he did?
I’ll just have to create another reason to go to the store again tomorrow.
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Friday 14 August, 3.15 P.M.
‘Kate? You called?’
Kate said a silent prayer of thanks when Adam Kimble walked in the room. She’d never been so glad to have an excuse to turn away from a computer monitor. At the same time, she’d never been so sorry to have to ask a colleague for a consult. ‘Yeah.’ She grabbed her water bottle and hit the monitor’s off button. ‘We arrested Corey Addison.’
‘I heard. I also heard from Quincy Taylor that you have mad ninja skills.’
Kate’s lips quirked up. ‘Thank you. I’m rather proud of my ninja skills. I’m not sure where Addison thought he was going. I had him cuffed and there were all kinds of cops and Feds surrounding the building.’ She smiled. ‘It made for amazing TV when we dragged him out, hobbling because I had to cuff his feet too.’
‘I know.’ Adam’s smile was just as evil as hers. ‘I saw it on every news station in town and on CNN. I think we even made the BBC.’
‘Huzzah!’ Then Kate let out a breath. God. I hate this so damn much. ‘Adam . . . we searched his office and his home. And we found . . . stuff.’
Adam’s smile fizzled. ‘I figured as much.’
‘I don’t want you to have to view it all, not by yourself. That’s not right.’
‘It’s okay.’ He held up a bag with the logo of a local bookstore. ‘I’ve got coping strategies now.’ He dumped the bag on the table and Kate found herself smiling again.
‘Coloring books and Origami for Dummies? Excellent.’
‘It’s a start. I also need to deal with the anger.’ He winced. ‘I’m looking for a therapist.’
‘I thought you and Meredith . . . ?’
He shook his head. ‘Oh, no. No. We’re friends. I can’t expect her to treat me. It’s not fair to her. So I need someone . . . else.’
‘I get that.’ The PTSD specialist’s card was burning a hole in her pocket. ‘I’m going to try to find someone to help me with my . . .’ She exaggerated trembling hands. ‘I get so wound up, I can’t think. And knitting or origami will not always be appropriate.’
Adam sat down in front of the dark monitor. ‘You didn’t ask me here to talk about our feelings, although you’re welcome to call me if you need to be talked off a ledge.’
‘If you’ll do the same.’ She took the chair next to him when he nodded. ‘Okay. We’ll be therapy buddies. I never thought I’d say those words out loud, but there you are.’ She took a breath, then caved and reached for the knitting she’d been doing when he came in. ‘There wasn’t anything on Addison’s office computer. He was smart enough not to surf for porn at work, at least. But his home computer was full and he had a lot of DVDs. Some were professionally done – and I use that term very lightly. Others he’d recorded himself and that’s a whole ’nother investigation. But relevant to this one were some old-style CDs. They were labeled with “SS” and the year and the volume. The dates started six years ago and continued for three years.’
‘When Sunshine Suzie was being forced to make the films,’ Adam said tightly.
‘Yeah. There are several volumes for each year, especially the first. Corey Addison was a real fan. I took a look at the first CD from each of the three years, just to get an idea of the flow and if anything had changed.’
‘Like the set or the props. Good thinking.’
Kate bobbed her head nervously, knitting until she hit the end of a row and realized she’d been silently bobbing her head for a long time. She looked up, embarrassed, and saw understanding in Adam’s eyes.
‘It sucks,’ he murmured. ‘And not everyone handles it the same way. I . . . self-detonated. Cut myself off from family and friends. However you deal with it is gonna be your normal.’
‘That sounds like it came from a textbook or a sensei.’
‘Second one. I had a mentor while I was working Personal Crimes. He was the guy I met with yesterday to review the files found on McCord’s PC. Bottom line is, don’t be embarrassed. And, I guess . . . don’t be afraid to ask for help.’
‘That’s the problem,’ she said miserably. ‘I’m asking you for help because you’ll be able to analyze this faster than the rest of us.’
‘So there were changes between year one and year three?’
‘Yes. The set changed. And then I went to the website that Corey Addison had bookmarked to compare the recorded ones with the Suzie videos online and most were the same, but the year one videos weren’t. There were extra ones on Addison’s recordings – ones that aren’t available online. I couldn’t find them, at least. But I haven’t learned all the places to look yet.’
‘None of us know that. They change daily. Somehow the perverts get the memo, though.’ He took a series of deep breaths. ‘I don’t need to look at the online videos. I viewed them at ICAC this afternoon to refresh my memory. I figured we should know what she’d been through. Meredith will need to know, anyway, so she can properly counsel her once we find her. I didn’t want Mer to have to see this.’
Kate squeezed his shoulder. ‘You’re a good guy, Kimble.’
He grimaced. ‘I don’t think so.’
She grabbed his chin and made him look at her. ‘You are a good guy,’ she repeated firmly. ‘We all deal differently, but one of the commonalities should be that we don’t diss ourselves. And we don’t let friends diss themselves, either. So stop it. Got it?’
He smiled awkwardly, since she still held his chin. ‘Yes, oh mighty ninja queen.’
‘I like that better than origami queen,’ she said loftily, then let him go. ‘The video I have open is one of Corey Addison’s first Suzie recordings. She’s young, Adam. Really young.’
He nodded. Then hit the monitor’s ON button. And his face tightened. As did his fists. ‘Jesus God,’ he whispered. ‘Why? I mean, how could anyone be that . . .’
‘Evil?’ Kate supplied sadly. ‘I don’t know. But God, do I want to find the man who did this to her.’
‘Me too.’ He frowned and focused on the monitor. ‘You’re right. The videos were produced in two different places. The light is different for one. See how it fills the window here? But there’s no actual sun stream.’
‘Northern exposure,’ Kate said. ‘I wanted to be a tracker when I joined the army, but back then it wasn’t really possible if you were a girl.’
‘That’s bullshit. You shoot better than just about any man I know.’
‘Thank you, but that’s the way it was. Regardless, I can navigate my way out of just about anywhere, cloudy day or sunny. Night or day.’ She wasn’t bragging. It was simply a statement of skill.
‘Then maybe you can give my mom some lessons,’ Adam said lightly. ‘She gets lost going to the corner store.’
‘Maybe she’d be better off with a GPS.’ Kate went along with the levity because it seemed to be calming them both.
Adam laughed. ‘Maybe.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, the light is different,
so it’s at least a different room in the same house.’ He paused the video and tilted his head. ‘Nope, different house. The ceilings are higher in the newer videos.’
She leaned over to see the screen. ‘Now that you point it out, I can see it, yes.’
‘It could still be the same house, but the landscape is different when you look through the window. I’m not sure this matters, though. If it is a different place and he’s not filming there anymore, it probably won’t help us to locate it. Especially if it’s been years.’
‘But why are these older videos no longer available?’ Kate pressed. ‘It seems like he’d want to get all the hits he could, to make the most money.’
‘True.’ Adam leaned back in his chair, thinking. ‘It would make sense if this first place was compromised somehow.’
‘Like people he knew might identify him through the house?’
‘Exactly. It would have to be people who could use it against him. Maybe blackmail him.’ His dark brows shot up. ‘Or arrest him.’
Kate smiled slowly. ‘Like maybe the cops saw his house. If they did, they didn’t realize what he was doing there, because they didn’t arrest him. Or . . .’ Her smile faded. ‘Or they did figure it out and wanted in on the deal.’
‘All maybes, but all places to start.’
‘If we could figure out where this place is, Adam, we could check it against police reports. It wouldn’t be old. He filmed there six years ago. By five years ago, he was somewhere else.’
‘No one’s been able to figure out where that place is,’ Adam said. ‘ICAC didn’t know she was local when she first came on the scene. There weren’t any cues suggesting the videos were made in the Midwest. In the US generally, yes, but that’s all.’
‘Cues like what? Electrical outlet configurations?’
‘Yeah, that and products sitting out on kitchen counters and bathroom sinks. Wallpaper styles. Shoe styles. That kind of thing. Now the technology is so much better, they might be able to figure out where he filmed both at the beginning and then later, after he moved.’ He looked at her then, his eyes intense. ‘This is the first time I’ve felt any hope at all working these cases, Kate.’
‘Good. Then I don’t feel so bad calling you in.’
‘You shouldn’t have worried about it anyway. This is a job. My job.’
She hesitated. ‘Actually, your job is the violent crime task force, isn’t it? You’re not going back to Personal Crimes, are you?’
‘Yes to the first and no to the second. So this is my job for now.’
‘That sounds better. So what next?’
‘I take the CDs and run them through whoever’s software is the latest and greatest. I’m betting you the Feds have better tech than ICAC does.’
‘You’re probably right. Troy will be able to help you with that.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder where he is. I haven’t heard from him in hours, but I get no cell signal in here.’ She was in the equivalent of a vault, the place they went to discuss or to view anything highly confidential. ‘He was going to dig into the Professor.’ She dialed Troy’s phone from the room’s landline. ‘Hey,’ she said when he answered. ‘What’s your location?’
‘On my way to Alice’s apartment. Decker came through in a big way.’
Kate’s mouth fell open. ‘What? Why didn’t anyone tell me?’
‘He did,’ Troy said. ‘He sent out a group text to you, me, and Zimmerman.’
‘Dammit. I really hate when I’m disconnected like this.’
‘You’re in the vault?’
‘Yeah. But I’ll come meet you at Alice’s.’ She looked over at Adam. ‘Is that okay with you? If I leave you with this?’
‘Of course,’ Adam said, ‘but let me talk to Troy.’
Kate handed the phone off to him, gathering her things while he and Troy talked tech. Her phone started pinging and buzzing as soon as she was twenty feet outside of the vault. One text from Troy, responding to Decker’s group text. One from Zimmerman, same.
One group text from Deacon, saying that he’d be at the jail for a while, that one of the guards was acting ‘squirrelly’.
One from Meredith, thanking her for taking Kendra under her wing.
One from Felicia Petrie, with her thanks and a video attachment of Kate being attacked by Corey Addison and the resulting ‘ninja action’.
And eight texts from Decker. One was the group text, saying he’d found Alice’s apartment and providing the Oakley address. Kate didn’t know the city yet, but she’d Google Map it. The seven remaining texts had been sent privately, just to her.
Ate all the chicken. Sorry. Maybe we can go out later for more? I’ll wear a tactical helmet. Going stir crazy just sitting here.
Yeah, right, she thought. They were not going out for chicken or anything else. She’d pick up more food on her way back. She already planned to stop for more brownie ingredients. He’d stay put in the safe house. Where it was safe, for heaven’s sake. God. Men.
Rolling her eyes, she read on. The next text had been sent an hour ago.
Found Alice’s place. Then, five minutes later: Saw you on TV escorting the SOB out of his building. Leg cuffs. Nice touch.
Fifteen minutes after that: Yo, Kate, you there?
And then, ten minutes later, Helllooooo? Now you’re scaring me. Call me. Need to know you’re OK.
And a few minutes after that: Oh. Vault. Z told me you’re OK. Next time, take an effing coffee break, okay? Let your phone connect with the universe. That last one made her smile.
The smile was wiped off her face by the final text, sent fifteen minutes ago: Meet me at Alice’s. Address in group text. Back in the game! Hell yeah.
‘Hell no,’ Kate muttered as she race-walked to her car, ignoring the heat and humidity. ‘Goddamn man needs a fucking keeper.’
‘They all do, honey,’ an older lady said as she got out of the car next to Kate’s.
Kate spared a second to smile at her. ‘I was hoping they got smarter with age.’
The lady laughed. ‘We wish.’
‘Have a nice day,’ Kate said, then jumped in her rental and cranked the engine. ‘Decker, you have some serious explaining to do.’
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Friday 14 August, 3.20 P.M.
He watched the handoff through binoculars, a good block away. The frontman was just a kid himself, no one special. But the kid – whose name was Charlie – thought he was all that because the Professor had hand-picked him to try his newest pick-me-up. In reality he’d chosen Charlie because he was the first one who’d shown up at the basketball court behind the CVS.
Charlie probably wouldn’t be feeling so great in a few minutes, but that was the way the ball rolled. I leave no witnesses. Ever.
Rawlings’s son had shown up after his shift at the McDonald’s across the street, as was his routine. All the kids were drawn to the place like homing pigeons during the school year, descending minutes after the final bell. It was the place to be seen. Boys played basketball, showing off, and girls sat in little bevies and watched, cooing their admiration. Year after year. Fashions might change, but kids in general remained pretty predictable.
During the summer, far fewer kids showed up to play, and they didn’t stay long. Because, like, heat stroke, he thought derisively. Every summer he and Nell got at least one heat stroke victim off this very basketball court. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d treated Charlie at some time in the past. He’d definitely treated the kid for other things – colds, flu. He’d known Charlie since he was a snot-nosed fifth-grader.
He’d known Charlie’s mother even longer, both as a family doctor and as the Professor. They’d gone to college together and she’d been one of the Professor’s very infrequent customers, back in the days when she’d used only enough to get her through finals. To get h
er through the bar exam. Then to get through an especially challenging court case.
But children came along and she and her husband kept progressing in their careers, and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to cook the food and shuttle the kids and go to softball games and be a cut-throat attorney and, oh yeah, to stay fit and slim for her husband, who liked to brag that she could still fit into her high-school cheerleading uniform. Which was simply madness, but Charlie’s mom bought it, lock, stock and barrel.
And started taking more and more of the Professor’s pills, because being all things to all people was hard work. Now she was one of his best customers, and perhaps a little careless, too. Because Charlie had brought him his mother’s pills to trade for something that was a little more fun, not knowing that he was dealing with his mom’s dealer.
And he’d certainly never tell the kid, because there was honor in the client/dealer relationship. He dealt with every customer individually. No blabbing everybody’s business. Besides, he really didn’t care, except about the money it brought in.
Tim Rawlings Junior and Charlie were pals. He knew this because he’d watched them play together before. The two had already sweated through their shirts, and Tim Junior had pulled his off and was mopping his face with it. Both kids were nice-looking, but Tim Junior was a little slimmer, muscles a little more defined. Probably spent more time in his dad’s home gym. He’d look good on film.
If he lived, of course. That would depend on Rawlings Senior.
Charlie took a swig of water, then pulled out the little medicine bottle he carried and shook out a pill or two, carefully examining them before popping them in his mouth. He’d taken the correct ones. One generic meth pill plus a blue capsule. Because you’re bigger, he’d explained to the kid when he’d given him the pills. The yellow capsule was for Tim Junior because he was lighter-weight.
In reality, Charlie’s blue capsule was filled with sugar, while Junior’s contained something far more deadly. Something that would give Rawlings Senior pause. Something that would make Rawlings Senior back the hell off his threats and demands. Something that would strike the fear of God into the guard’s heart. Or, better still, the fear of me.
