The Kid: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 3)

by Dustin Stevens

  Motioning toward the wreckage, Monty led the trio a few steps closer, a faint bit of heat still emanating from it. “Sorry there isn’t more to see. About the only thing we got of any value from it was the license plate number.”

  Glancing at the mess before him, Reed nodded with the assessment. For a moment he wondered why the shooter had left the plate before dismissing it, reasoning he had kept it on for the same reason he had stolen the car.

  He had known it was clean and that it would go nowhere.

  “Anything inside?” Reed asked.

  “Not that we could see,” Monty replied. “Howie made one trip up and peeked in, walked back out the same way. We didn’t want to track things up any more than that.”

  Given that the ground was gravel, it would be impossible to pull a footprint, though Reed nodded anyway.

  Better to have them slow play things than risk corrupting a scene.

  “How’d you guys find this thing, way out here?” Reed asked.

  “We didn’t,” Howie replied, his voice bearing the candor of a young man not long on the job. “Couple fishermen came down looking to put in and spotted it.”

  “They just left a few minutes ago,” Monty added. “We have their information if you want it, but it sounds like they didn’t know a thing beyond being a little pissed their fishing trip got ruined.”

  In another time Reed would have laughed out loud at the comment, though at the moment it barely registered with him. Instead he forced himself to bite back the bile that was threatening to crawl up the back of his throat about the situation that he was facing.

  Thus far every potential lead had turned out to be nothing. The Hendrix family was out of the state, the car was torched and dumped. The shell casings at the scene were generic .9mm and Bishop couldn’t really remember anything after the shooting started.

  If something didn’t break soon he was going to be looking at a blank slate, unsure where to go next. The thought caused his stomach to tighten, intensifying the acidic liquid traveling in the wrong direction through his chest.

  “I asked my crime scene crew to be on standby,” Reed said, jumping ahead, his mind already piecing together what he needed from the scene stretched out in front of him. “You guys want this one or you mind if I have them take a look?”

  The men exchanged a quick glance, the younger man deferring to the older.

  “Figured you might,” Monty said. “Tell them to come on in. One of our deputies usually does that sort of thing for us, if he can. After that we have to call on your crews from the city.

  “Probably end up being the same guys down here either way.”

  Reed nodded, glad for one less hurdle to clear for the time being. At that he moved forward a few more steps, careful to stay clear of the dark outline on the ground. He raised himself up onto his toes and peered into the remains of the car, not especially hopeful for what he might find.

  All that remained of the SUV was the rough outline of the frame, most of the interior having burned away. What was left behind had melted into a twisted mess of rubber and vinyl, the entire thing looking like a black candle that been left to burn overnight.

  “I might have my partner take a quick run around the place too, see if she can pick up anything,” Reed said as he stared into the gaping maw of the car frame another moment.

  Content that there was nothing more for him to see, he lowered himself back to flat feet, turning to see the men staring back at him.

  “Your partner?” Monty asked, confusion clear on his face.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sun was long since below the horizon, the outside temperature dropping more than a dozen degrees with it. As the calendar inched steadily closer to Halloween, long gone was the oppressively hot summer that had enveloped the region, ceding to what promised to be another brutal winter. Just into the second week of October, already the overnight lows were touching 40 with no reason to believe it would get better for a long, long time.

  Reed did his best to ignore the chill as he leaned against the side of his sedan, the cool metal of the exterior pressing against the back of his sweatshirt and jeans. In his hand he held the last part of a pulled pork sandwich, the wrapper still encasing the bottom of it, protecting his hands from the thick barbecue sauce threatening to pour out at any moment.

  As hungry as he was, showing up to interview a witness with dinner all over his hands was still bad form.

  At his feet were the two smaller plastic bowls Reed kept in the car for days such as these, emergency provisions for times when the job kept them out far beyond the traditional eight hour shift. The one on the left had been picked clean of every last morsel of kibble, the one on the right with just a half-inch of water remaining in the bottom.

  Many times over the years Riley had chastised him for not taking better care of himself on the job, his tendency to become overly focused often pushing aside even the most basic of necessities, such as fuel or sleep. Over the years it had turned into a bit of an inside joke between the two of them, the kind of thing that only friends seasoned by time and experience can talk about.

  Now that she was gone and in her stead was Billie, it was something he had taken much more interest in. For as capable as his new partner was, there were certain things she still required from him.

  Taking the time to make sure she was well-fed and able to relieve herself was one of them.

  The last of the sandwich went down as Reed wadded the paper into a ball in his hands, turning and placing it atop the hood beside him. Still chewing, he bent at the waist and tossed away the unwanted portion of Billie’s water, the bottom mostly just drool and slobber. Using a napkin, he wiped it clean and stowed the bowl away before pursing his lips and whistling a two-note call into the night.

  On cue Billie emerged before him, beginning only as a pair of glistening eyes before becoming a silhouette and finally a full body.

  “Good girl,” Reed said, rubbing the fur behind her ears before attaching the short lead to her collar and grabbing up the garbage from the top of the car.

  Circling around the back of it, he led them forward to their last stop of the night.

  The Holiday Inn was located on the southern edge of Grove City, a couple miles off the interstate, on the far outskirts of town. Nearby the glow of restaurants and chain hotels could be seen, though unlike most areas of town there was open space visible between them, the signs of urban sprawl just beginning to take hold.

  Jonas Hendrix had called less than an hour before and said his family had arrived and was settled for the evening. There was absolutely zero enthusiasm as he did so, Reed able to tell in an instant that the man would rather do nearly anything else in the world.

  For as much as he would like to give the guy a break for the night, he also pictured Bishop lying back in his hospital bed, remembered the words he had said when he spoke about his injured partner.

  Recalled the way he had felt when he first heard about Riley.

  He would be as non-intrusive as he could be, but the fact remained that Hendrix had information that he needed. Even if he didn’t, that could tell Reed a lot too, his only hope being that by the time they headed home for the night, a new direction had revealed itself.

  The front door to the hotel operated on a sensor, sliding silently to the side as Reed and Billie passed through. Inside the temperature was almost 20 degrees warmer, bringing a rush of heat to Reed’s cheeks as he stepped into a subdued lobby.

  Built to match every single other like-kind establishment in the country, the tile underfoot was square and white, the walls painted taupe. Generic artwork hung at even intervals, the recognizable green logo of the chain splashed across anything that would hold it.

  On the right was a counter extended more than 10 feet in length, behind it a young man in a vest sporting a mop of curly hair. He glanced at Reed and then Billie, a look of alarm passing over his features as he opened his mouth to object to an animal being inside.

 
Already knowing where things were headed, Reed reached into his sweatshirt and extracted his badge, letting it bounce against his chest. “Detective Reed Mattox, my partner Billie, CPD.”

  Just as fast as it had arrived, the look receded from the young man’s face, a bit of curiosity flooding in. “We’re here to meet with Jonas Hendrix.”

  The young man kept his attention on Billie as he nodded once and said, “Right. He’s in the conference room down the hall. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Reed said, pushing past the desk without once stopping. At the edge of the front lobby the flooring switched from tile to carpet, the thin material surprisingly soft, absorbing all sound as they made their way to the end of the hall.

  It was the first time Reed had ever been to the place, the first hotel he had stepped into since Pasadena 10 months before, but the layout was simple enough. On his right a space for continental breakfast, a restroom, and a small fitness center passed by, each standing dark and silent, the only light coming from a single door at the end of the hall.

  Knocking once on the frame of it, Reed paused just momentarily at the threshold, peering inside.

  The space was of medium size, more than a dozen feet in either direction. A trio of white wooden tables was arranged in a horseshoe pattern, chairs pushed up tight against them, a projector screen on the opposite wall, everything positioned for easy viewing.

  Standing in the center of the arrangement was Jonas Hendrix. Based on the photos at his home Reed had estimated him to be somewhere around 40, though at the moment he appeared to have aged more than a decade. Large bags hung beneath his eyes and deep trenches were pushed back through his thinning hair, no doubt the result of having run his hands through it one time after another since they last spoke.

  Several inches shorter than Reed, he wore wrinkled khaki shorts and a pullover with the sleeves pushed up, sweat visible on his skin.

  The sound of the knock pulled his attention over to Reed, his mouth dropping open.

  “Detective Mattox?”

  “Reed.” He motioned to his side and said, “My partner, Billie.”

  A look falling somewhere between surprised and uncertain passed over his face as he nodded, saying nothing.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” Reed said, entering the room. He released his grip on the leash, dropping it to the floor, and said, “Down.”

  Beside him Billie acted in concert, her head remaining upright, her ears pointed straight up above her.

  Stopping just short of the edge of the closest table, Reed pushed his hands into his pockets. “I spoke to the crime scene folks earlier this afternoon. They said they want to make one more quick pass through in the morning, then they will have the place cleaned and put back to normal.”

  Hendrix appeared as if he barely registered anything Reed was saying, his face blank.

  Just like with the Rollins’s earlier, Hendrix was fitting directly into one of the more standard responses. Some became angry, some went into denial. This man appeared to be in shock, a state that could last anywhere from a matter of hours to weeks or more.

  Given that he was the sole male in a house featuring two young daughters, Reed feared Hendrix might linger much closer to the latter, though he didn’t comment on it.

  “We appreciate you being so cooperative about this,” Reed said, hoping to pull the man forward just enough to interact with him.

  The words hung between them for a moment before Hendrix raised both hands to his face. He rubbed his palms over his cheeks before pushing them back through his scalp, his face bearing a red hue from the movement.

  “Cooperative,” he whispered. “As if we had a choice.”

  Reed remained silent a moment, allowing the man to have the floor, as much to see if we would mention anything useful without being prompted or if we has simply rehashing things in his mind.

  “Longest damn flight of my life,” he said, beginning to pace. He made it no more than a few steps before having to turn, covering the ground in long strides before reversing course and heading back again.

  Watching him go, Reed decided to hold off on mention of the car just yet. He had just a few questions he needed to get to first. Seeing how the man was reacting, it was clear he was already teetering on the brink of sanity, a perfectly acceptable response, but not one Reed could do a great deal with at the moment.

  “Mr. Hendrix, like I mentioned earlier, we do not believe you or your family had anything to do with this,” Reed said.

  The statement stopped Hendrix momentarily, his jaw again falling slack as he stared over at Reed.

  “Well, of course we didn’t. We don’t even own a gun.”

  Reed already knew that, having run the records that afternoon for any signs of a permit, but nodded as if it were of paramount importance.

  “What we would like to know is how this individual knew your family was going to be out of town,” Reed said. “The fact that this occurred while you were away was not a coincidence.”

  The look on Hendrix’s face grew even more pronounced, all color bleeding from his cheeks. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, echoing the line he had used repeatedly that afternoon. “Do you think he was watching us?”

  For a moment Reed considered the notion, assessing it and dismissing it in quick fashion. The neighborhood they lived on was situated such that any sort of surveillance would have had to be conducted right along the street. Given the number of homes nearby and the speed with which neighbors had responded to his breech the night before, it seemed very unlikely that anybody could have spent extended periods of time observing and gone unnoticed.

  “Not necessarily,” Reed said. “Like I said, most likely your SUV was a target of opportunity, not something personally aimed at you.

  “Tell me though, do you happen to have any new neighbors? Anybody out of town that might be employing a house sitter?”

  The pacing stopped as Hendrix backed himself up to the closest table, resting his bottom against the edge of it. He folded his arms across his chest, his entire form seeming to shrink in size, as he raised a hand to his chin and pondered the question.

  “No, we’re the newest family on the block, been there more than two years. As far as I know, nobody else has been gone recently.”

  “How about lawn care companies, dog walkers, anybody else that might be familiar with your habits?”

  Another moment passed before Hendrix shook his head to the side. “Nothing like that. We’ve been saving almost six months for this trip. Bought our cars on credit. No luxuries like those of any kind.”

  Glancing down to Billie, Reed nodded. The information seemed to fit with what he expected, the home and the street neither one seeming affluent enough to make use of such services. Any family that would ask a neighbor to collect mail seemed unlikely to hire someone else to cut their grass.

  “How about social media?” Reed asked. “Are you guys active on Facebook? Twitter? Anywhere that someone might have seen a posting about your impending trip?”

  “I’m not on anything,” Hendrix said. “I work in sales, barely have time to make it home for dinner and baths every night.”

  He paused, before adding, “I know my wife has Facebook, though I don’t think she’s real active. I mean, we’re 40 after all.”

  There was no further explanation, though there didn’t need to be. Some things just seem a bit frivolous after a certain age. Raising kids becomes far important than sharing photos with people they hadn’t seen in decades.

  Just the same he made a mental note to have someone take a look, determine if anything was out there that someone might have seen and taken advantage of.

  “Have you found it yet?” Hendrix asked. “My car, I mean.”

  A bit of familiar dread flushed just briefly into Reed’s stomach, a conditioned response to having to be the bearer of bad news. On the grand scale of things, this wasn’t quite as awful as having to share the loss of a loved one, but it would still come with an impact, espec
ially for someone in the state that Hendrix was before him.

  “This afternoon the Madison County Sheriff’s Department found your car at a put-in along Big Darby Creek,” Reed said.

  Every part of him wanted to pause there, to not heap anything more on this poor man for one day, but he knew he couldn’t do that. It was better to get everything in the open right up front, to let him know the enormity of the situation so he could begin making plans, take his first steps to returning things to normal.

  Just as surely too, even as harsh as it sounded, Reed also knew he needed to be pushing onward himself. He felt for the Hendrix family and their plight, but right now his entire concern was focused on the man that had shot Iaconelli and Bishop.

  They were partners. He would not abide them having to go through something similar to what he had.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hendrix, but the car was burned beyond repair. Tomorrow it will be transported to our crime scene garage and held for the duration of the investigation in case anything further could possibly be pulled from it.

  “After that, the easiest thing for you would be to just let us send it to a junk yard.”

  Remembering the charred shell of the vehicle he had seen that afternoon, Reed knew there was no way any insurance company would ever pay to put that SUV back on the road. It would be a losing proposition, no matter how valuable or how much sentimental attachment there might have been.

  Several emotions passed over Hendrix’s face in quick order, running the full gamut, before his features contorted themselves into a crinkled heap. His mouth opened and shut twice as if he might respond before he gave up on the notion.

  His hands again rose to his face, covering his entire visage as his shoulders began to shake, Reed tapping his leg and leading Billie away.

  Jonas Hendrix had been through enough. He didn’t need to suffer the added indignity of someone watching him cry.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The full ski mask The Kid wore was hot. He had bypassed wool for cotton, but still it felt exceedingly warm against his skin, stuck to his face as droplets of sweated beaded up, saturating the material, causing it to cling to his cheeks and forehead.