Depraved Difference (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #1)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Suddenly he heard two shots ring out from behind him.

  Vinny heard the two shots and spun around to see Frank flying backward and an SUV peeling onto the street, pulling a u-turn. Sprinting toward Frank, he pulled his weapon and began firing at the fleeing vehicle, several shots hitting the back, shattering the rear window. It swerved from side to side a couple of times before turning left and out of sight. Vinny reached Frank and dropped to his knees at Frank's side. He couldn’t see any blood but there were two clear holes in his shirt. “Jesus Christ, kid!” yelled Vinny. “Please tell me …” He ripped open Frank's jacket and breathed a sigh of relief at what he saw—two bullets embedded in a Kevlar vest. Ripping the Velcro clasps, he removed the vest to see if the bullets had penetrated. Suddenly Frank gasped and coughed. He winced in pain. “Take it easy, kid,” said Vinny gently.

  “Wh-what happened?”

  “You were shot, kid.” Vinny looked at the shirt under the vest and saw the bullets hadn't penetrated. “Your vest caught the bullets, you'll be okay.” Vinny sat down on the ground beside Frank. “Your ribs'll be sore for a few weeks, though.” They both looked up as Eldridge arrived, having sprinted all the way from the take-down.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “The kid's been shot twice in the vest. The bastard was in an SUV, literally two vehicles down from where that van pulled out. I got a few shots off, hit the rear window, but couldn’t get a plate.”

  Another officer ran up to them. “Sir, they found the vehicle just a few blocks from here abandoned!”

  “Any sign of the shooter?”

  “No, sir, no sign of him but they're searching.”

  Eldridge nodded as he and Vinny helped Frank to his feet. “Tell us what happened,” said Eldridge.

  Frank took a few tentative steps on his own, slowly regaining his composure. “As soon as the van took off I knew it wasn’t the right vehicle—the signal didn't get weaker, so I kept going, figured out it was the SUV and that's when I got shot.”

  “Did you see the shooter?”

  “I saw the shots, that's it. I'm sorry, Detective, I should have been more careful.”

  Eldridge put his hand on Frank's back and gave his neck a gentle squeeze. “Don't worry, kid, you did good. You're alive and that's all that matters.”

  “I've got a question for you, kid,” said Vinny. “Why the hell were you wearing a vest to a crime scene?”

  Frank looked at him. “I'm a computer geek. I never get out of the lab. I'd have worn two if I could have found a second one.”

  Vinny laughed and slapped him on the back. Frank yelped in pain. “Sorry,” said Vinny sheepishly. Turning to Eldridge, he said, “So, we've got nothing then.”

  “Not true,” disagreed Eldridge. “We've got a vehicle to search and trace.”

  Vinny smiled. “Let me at it!”

  As they neared the original crime scene an ambulance pulled up with several more squad cars. Eldridge handed Frank over to the paramedics then redirected the officers to help in the search and secure the now expanded crime scene. Vinny headed to the shooter's vehicle to process it, leaving the rest of his team to gather whatever evidence they could.

  Eldridge entered the house to interview Messina's wife, who, in all the excitement over the webcam’s discovery, he hadn't had time to speak with. He found her in the living room, hugging a child of about six. The wife’s face appeared gaunt, almost anorexic, her cheek bones protruded through her skin, her head, devoid of all hair, seemed almost too large for her frail, emaciated frame, her skin, a pale grey, clung to her bones, her lips, thin and dry, were pursed, her right hand gripped the arm of the chair she sat in, determination holding her steadier than her weakened muscles could.

  Eldridge was taken aback, not expecting this sight at all. “Mrs. Messina,” said Eldridge softly, “I'm Detective Eldridge. May I ask you a few questions?” She nodded weakly. “Is there anything I can get you? Do you want me to get the paramedics?”

  She shook her head. “No, there's nothing they can do.”

  Eldridge sat across from her, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you ill, Mrs. Messina?”

  She nodded. “I'm terminal. My doctors say I won't see Christmas.”

  Eldridge's shoulders sagged. This was what he hated. The victim is always thought of as the person who died, but the real victims, the ones who have to now live with the death for the rest of their lives, were people like this. The poor little girl that probably wouldn’t remember what her father looks like when she grows up. The dying wife who won't get to spend her last few days with her loving husband, left instead grieving his loss, knowing her daughter would soon be left all alone in the world. It broke Eldridge's heart. They were taught to not get involved personally, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it, humanity had to enter the equation. “I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. I truly am. I'll try to keep this brief.” She managed a weak smile. “Did you see or hear anything that might help us?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I only heard the shot. I was too scared to go look, so I just called the police.”

  “I understand. Why was your husband in the garage?”

  “He had a call on his cell and said he would take it outside so it wouldn't disturb me.”

  “Did he seem agitated in any way?”

  She nodded. “As a matter of fact, he hasn't seemed himself for the past few days, something was bothering him. I asked him what it was but he just said it was work.”

  “Where were you last Tuesday?”

  “Last Tuesday?” She scrunched her eyebrows. “I don't know, here probably.”

  “You weren't at a piano recital?”

  “Oh, yes, that's right, I forgot.” She hugged her daughter. “We went to see her class recital.”

  “I played Hot Cross Buns!” said the little girl, her voice filled with pride.

  “That's one of my favorite songs!” said Eldridge, smiling at her. She buried her head into her mother's chest. Turning back to Mrs. Messina, he asked, “What time did it end?”

  “Around ten, I think.”

  “And did you all return home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your husband didn't take a call from work?”

  “No, he was off that night.”

  “So at no time on Tuesday evening did your husband leave you.”

  “No, he was with me all night,” she said, her eyes drooping. “I'm sorry, Detective, but can we continue this tomorrow? I'm exhausted.”

  Eldridge rose. “Of course, ma'am. The crime scene unit will still be here and I'll be leaving an officer outside overnight. Is there anywhere you can stay? It could be busy in here for a while.”

  A determined expression crossed her face. “No, I only have a few months to live, and I'm spending every moment of it I can in my home.”

  “I completely understand,” said Eldridge, admiring the strength she had. “If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask any of the officers. And here's my card, you can call me at any time as well.” She took the card and thanked him.

  Eldridge left the Messina residence and called Vinny. “Anything for me?”

  “Nothing yet. The SUV was registered to Chris Messina so that's a dead end. I'm taking it to my lab to give it a thorough going over, see if we can get anything.”

  “Okay, keep me posted.” Eldridge flipped his phone closed and walked over to Frank who had just finished with the paramedics. “How you feeling, kid?”

  Frank grinned. “Pretty good, amazingly enough. Ribs are a little tender, but seeing how I should be dead, I'm feeling great!”

  “You got damned lucky.”

  “Yeah, you're right,” agreed Frank. “Listen, I'm heading back to the lab to see if any of those photos are finished, I just have three more.”

  Eldridge shook his head. “No, you go home, they'll be there tomorrow.” He helped Frank into his car then turned back to his own when his phone rang. “Eldridge.”

  “Hello, Detective,
this is Aynslee Kai. Just wondering if you had any comment on a story I'm running tonight, about a DVD player that was found at the hospital explosion?”

  Eldridge was impressed with how she managed to keep finding out things that hadn't been released to the public. But then just as his job was investigating, so was hers. “I'm sorry, Miss Kai, but I can't comment on that.”

  “So there was a DVD player?”

  Eldridge couldn’t believe he had fallen in the trap of confirming a rumor. “Sorry, but I can't confirm or deny that there was a DVD player.”

  “Uh huh. Sounds like a 'yes' to me.” He could almost hear her smiling over the phone. “Since we both know there was a DVD player there, can you tell me what was on it?”

  “I'm sorry, Miss Kai, you'll have to ask your source that. Good night.”

  Hanging up the phone he chuckled to himself. She might have this thing solved before I do.

  Chelsie remained lying on her mattress, too terrified to move, not knowing how long the drug should take to wear off. Eventually she drifted off to sleep, but not before noticing she wore different clothes than when she was originally taken. When she woke, it was to the sound of the platform lowering. She took the food and water and stood back as the platform rose to the ceiling. Sealed in once again, her light flickered on, and she shoved the sandwich into the hole and drank her water. Eventually she would have to eat, but in the meantime she would make every effort to gather whatever information she could about her prison in the hopes something might allow her to escape.

  She guessed about an hour had gone by when once again she heard the platform lower. Her eyes shut, she pretended to be asleep, and, as he did the night before, he carried her to the platform and eventually to the bedroom. This time however she wasn’t undressed. Instead, he held her right hand out and gently gripped her pinky finger. Her nail was squeezed and she heard a clicking sound. He's cutting my nails! Again he hummed the same tune from the night before, the tune vaguely familiar but something she couldn’t place. It didn't take long for him to clip all of her fingernails short. The experience was vile. Not able to see what was happening as her nails were cut off one by one, she resisted the urge to squirm. But it was the incessant humming that threatened to drive her crazy. When he moved to her feet it proved almost too much. She didn't like anybody touching her feet, and having her abductor touch them was beyond uncomfortable.

  She flinched.

  She couldn’t help it; her feet were just too sensitive. The humming stopped and she immediately flinched again, remembering how it had worked last time. He resumed his humming and she flinched as needed, her tension slightly relieved. By the time he finished, water boarding sounded good to her. He pushed her socks back on and carried her into what she knew was the bathroom. Placing her in a chair, he tilted her head back into a sink and then turned the tap on. Within minutes her long hair was wet. He towel-dried it then she heard him open a tube of something and begin to work it into her hair. At first she thought it was shampoo, but when the pungent, nostril searing odor of peroxide reached her nose, she realized what was happening. He's dying my hair!

  NINE

  Eldridge entered Vinny’s lab and found him processing what looked like fiber evidence, hopefully from last night’s fiasco. He had messages from both Vinny and Frank when he arrived, and now that his best lead was dead, he was desperate for fresh ones.

  “Hey, Detective, have you seen our young hero from last night yet?”

  “No, I just got in. Why?”

  “He's everybody's sweetheart now,” laughed Vinny as he looked up from the microscope. “Girls are fawning over him, guys are high-fivin' him. I gotta get me shot again.”

  Eldridge reached for his gun and Vinny waved him off. “No, please, no!” he yelled, laughing.

  “You sure? I'd be happy to do it.”

  Vinny rounded the lab table, chuckling. “I processed your vehicle last night. Nothing much to identify the shooter, but I can tell you this. He's a he, and he's a blonde.”

  “DNA?”

  “Yeah, we got lucky there, there were a few follicles on the hairs. No matches in the system yet, though.”

  “Okay, keep me posted.”

  “Always do, Detective,” said Vinny as he headed back to his tests.

  Eldridge ran up the stairwell and found Frank smiling at a volunteer police officer, a particularly attractive young woman with long blonde hair. She handed him her number as Eldridge walked into the tech lab.

  “Detective!” yelped Frank as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And what a cookie jar!

  “Call me,” she said to Frank as she left, smiling at Eldridge.

  Eldridge returned the smile and watched her sway out of the room. “I see you're feeling better,” he said, turning back to Frank.

  Frank laughed nervously. “Yeah, well, I guess word gets around.”

  Eldridge smiled. “What’ve you got for me?”

  “A name and another photo,” said Frank, returning to his computer. “I've got an ID on the second photo. His name is Nathan Small, I'm emailing you his details now. He's on the witness list for the prosecution next week. And here's your next photo,” he said, hitting a few keys. The picture showed a young man, maybe mid-twenties, with sandy-blonde hair and his face partially covered by his hand. “Now what does that look like to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I've been staring at this for a while, and I get the impression he's trying not to vomit.”

  Eldridge looked at the photo again. “It does kind of look like that, doesn't it? Was there any found at the scene?”

  Frank shrugged. “Hey, if it was programmable vomit, I could tell you about it. Plain ol' goop, that's Vinny's territory.” Eldridge smiled, noticing a newfound sense of confidence in Frank not there the night before. Maybe getting shot did him some good? “I'll email you the photo right away.”

  Eldridge thanked Frank and returned to Vinny's lab. “Hey, Vin, question for you. The subway attack last year, you didn't happen to find any vomit on the train or the platform?”

  Vinny looked up from his computer. “Don't know, I didn't process that scene. Let me pull up the file.” He hit a few keys and within seconds the evidence list for the case appeared. “There were quite a few vomit samples taken, it is a subway you know.”

  “Were they processed?”

  “No, we had the perps in custody before they were done so it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Can you process them now for me?”

  Vinny crinkled his nose. “Year old vomit? What for?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  Vinny shook his head. “I should show you how to do it.”

  Eldridge smiled and ducked out the door before Vinny could throw the stapler at him he had just picked up. Back at his desk, he printed out the contact info for Nathan Small then arranged to meet him at his home in an hour.

  Shaw had received the tip this time. An anonymous source (his favorite kind) in the police department had informed him the latest video was of an Abigail Teague. That little tidbit hadn't been released to the public yet, but he knew it. And he knew Aynslee Kai, the flavor of the month, didn't. And that was why he was stifling a grin in the story meeting as Aynslee told Merle she didn't know who the new victim was. That's why I should be doing the story. I have years of contacts, contacts that you can only dream of having some day.

  “What's on your mind, Jonathan?”

  It took a moment before Shaw noticed the entire room looking at him. “Pardon?”

  “I know that look, Jonathan. Spill.”

  Shaw shook his head. “No, it's nothing.”

  Merle frowned. “We're a team. If you've got something, let's have it. Now.”

  Shaw turned slightly red then sighed. “Fine. I have a source at One Police Plaza that tells me the latest victim is named Abigail Teague.” He watched with tremendous satisfaction the shocked expressions on the faces around the table.

  “How good is your s
ource?”

  It was Aynslee that asked. The nerve! “Better than anything you've obviously got.” Zing! Take that, bitch!

  “And when did you find this out?”

  This time it was Merle. “This morning.” This morning! I've known for hours and our wunderkind hasn't been able to find out anything!

  Merle's raised voiced caused him to jerk his head toward the head of the table. “You've known about this since this morning and you didn't tell anyone!” Shaw’s jubilation quickly drained away. “We're going to air without a name, and now you tell me you've had one all along?” Merle slammed his fist on the table then stood. “Aynslee, find out everything you can on Abigail Teague.” Shaw opened his mouth to protest when Merle spun toward him. “And you,” he said, pointing, “My office, now!”

  The room sat in stunned silence while Merle stormed out, a subdued Shaw in tow. Somebody giggled, breaking the tension, and everyone burst out in laughter. “What an asshole!” exclaimed the sports reporter, Mike Thomas.

  “Yeah, it's about damned time that snob was taken down a peg.”

  Aynslee kept quiet but was grinning from ear to ear on the inside. Heading for her desk, she quickly tracked down Abigail Teague's ex-husband, grabbed her crew and headed to the parking garage.

  Nathan Small sat on the couch in his tiny Greenwich Village apartment, remembering that day on the subway. There was only one way to describe it. Senseless. He had seen enough death in theatre, but that was war. You expected death in war. But in a subway? With a dozen people watching, doing nothing? That was senseless. That was an unnecessary death. He had been in the next car when he saw the commotion through the doors. He struggled to get there, his two prosthetic limbs slowing him down, the pain, still fresh from the IED that had shredded his legs less than a year before, almost overwhelming, but he pushed through. He reached the car as the subway screeched to a stop, too late to help the girl. He tried to chase her two attackers, but it was no use. The cowards on the train had disgusted him, most not sticking around for the police to arrive. He had. And he was going to testify and do whatever he could to help lock those two bastards in prison for the rest of their lives.