Her Last Call (Arrington Mystery Book 2)

by Elle Gray

  I grab my water bottle and take a drink. The idea that I’m walking into some sort of an ambush is ridiculous in ten thousand different ways. But Brody can sometimes be such a worrywart; he doesn’t always think things through.

  “Seriously Brody, the chances of this being an ambush are next to zero,” I tell him.

  “Next to zero is not absolute zero,” he notes. “What if this is the killer, and he’s just trying to lure you out to murder you? Get you off his trail?”

  “First off, the caller was a woman. I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain the killer is a man. Sec—”

  “And here I’ll remind you yet again. Ninety-nine-point-nine is not one hundred percent,” he adds.

  “Secondly,” I continue as if he hadn’t just interrupted me, “nobody knows we’re even looking into this, let alone Stella’s killer.”

  Brody sits back and lets out a deep breath, seeming to deflate a bit as he does. After a couple of moments to think about what I said, he starts to calm down. He runs a hand through his hair and nods.

  “Okay, maybe,” he admits. “Yeah, you could be right.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “I am right. Other than the people we’ve talked to, nobody else knows.”

  He shrugs. “Abby, Sonya, Miranda, Detective Lee, that guy who owns the bar,” he presses. “And everybody they talked to. It’s possible the killer got wind of it. If it’s not one of those people.”

  “Paranoid much?”

  “Paranoia’s kept me alive this long, hasn’t it?”

  I flash him a grin. “Not putting yourself in situations where you could be killed has kept you alive this long.”

  Brody laughs. “Yeah, that too.”

  I take another drink and glance down at the file on the table in front of me, but don’t really see it. I’m more than a little curious about this meeting and what this person has to say. But I know that Brody is right about having a healthy dose of skepticism and paranoia. While I don’t think this is an ambush, and firmly believe there’s no way the killer knows I’m looking into this, I still need to exercise caution. I can’t go rushing blindly into things and need to think before I act. Primarily because I don’t know what sort of agenda this mystery person is pushing.

  “Okay, so what do you need from me?” he asks.

  “They’ll probably be checking me for wires. I need something small. Discreet,” I tell him. “Something that I can turn on after they sweep me. Assuming they do.”

  He nods. “I think I’ve got just the thing,” he says. “And what else?”

  “Nothing I can think of. I just want to get this on tape.”

  Brody leans forward, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “I’d feel a lot better about this if you had Nick shadowing you.”

  I shake my head. “No way. Too risky,” I say. “The last thing I want is to spook her if she spots him. I don’t know what sort of intel she’s holding, but I want it.”

  He sighs and drums his fingers on the tabletop, frowning. I can see him trying to work out some angle to get me to take Nick with me, but there’s no way that’s happening. It’s too much of a risk. If I bring Nick, I risk her spotting him and bugging out. And if I bring him, I would have to keep him far enough away from the scene that he wouldn’t be spotted, which would also make him useless if things went sideways. He wouldn’t be able to get to me in time.

  There are just no two ways about it. I’m going in on this solo. Brody finally seems to come to the same conclusion and nods.

  “You’re at least going strapped, right?” he asks.

  “Do I look like a total moron?”

  He shrugs. “Now that you mention it…”

  I laugh. “Eat crap, Singer,” I say. “Now, pull up the map of the Garden. I want to get the lay of the land and plan for all contingencies before I go.”

  Brody grins. “That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all day.”

  Sixteen

  Willetson Garden; Queen Anne District, Seattle

  I get out of my Navigator and slowly walk across the parking lot. I pull my overcoat around me tighter but don’t button it, leaving it loose enough to pull my weapon if it all goes sideways. I’m hoping it doesn’t. As I approach the entrance, I see that the front gate has been left standing partially open; an invitation for me to step inside said the spider to the fly.

  The gate creaks a bit as I pull it open enough for me to slip through, moving as quietly as possible. The night is dark. The thick blanket of clouds that’s been pulled over the sky is blotting out all of the moonlight. The ambient light around Willetson Gardens is dim and murky, leaving little but thick pockets of shadow and gloom on all sides of me.

  Carrying my keys in my hand, I walk along the path that leads me from the gate, deeper into the gardens. Willetson Garden is a botanical reserve gifted to the city by the estate of Charles Willetson, a wealthy man who had a passion for botany. It closes to the public at eight, so I’m all alone out here. Well, not all alone. I can feel somebody out there, hidden beneath the cover of the darkness watching me. Call it paranoia, but I feel the eyes on me.

  I make my way down into the rose garden, as instructed. This section of the grounds is tucked back in a corner, far from the main gates. There is little lighting, and it’s is well hidden by all of the trees and tall flowering bushes that surround it. If this really is an ambush, they couldn’t have picked a better spot.

  Before me are several bushes containing multi-colored hybrid roses. I look at the velvety soft petals and breathe in the fragrance, a wistful smile on my face. The soft apricot and cream color of the Marilyn Monroe rose stands out in the dim light, and I reach out to touch the soft petals.

  I stand with my back to the path, making an easy target of myself for anybody who’d want to kill me. But I’m alert, and my senses are heightened. I feel them approaching from behind and subtly slip my hand into my jacket long before my mystery date gets to me.

  “No need for that weapon you’ve got your hand on, Arrington,” she calls out. “We’re not here to shoot it out, cowboy.”

  The voice, now free from the distorted muffle, is clear as a bell to me, as is the identity of the speaker. I turn to face her, my confusion melting away. I take my hand off the butt of my weapon and let my jacket fall back into place.

  “Sergeant Terri Welsh,” I grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  She gives me a small smile. “That’s Lieutenant Welsh to you, kid.”

  “No kidding?”

  “It’s been a little bit.”

  I nod. “It has.”

  Welsh was my watch commander back in the SPD. She’d helped me— as much as she could— when I was in the process of taking a corrupt cop named Boo Radley and his guys down. At the time, she’d been stuck at Sergeant for a long while, and because she’d taken Radley on earlier in her career, she figured that was as high as she was going to go in the SPD command structure.

  But once the fallout of Radley’s arrest hit the fan, and new people were put in new places, she moved up the chain, getting her long-overdue promotion. These days she serves as the adjutant to Police Commissioner Zachary Gray. It’s a good promotion, and Welsh absolutely deserves it.

  I always respected Welsh. She’s a good person and was definitely good police. She does things the right way, doesn’t cut corners, and doesn’t suffer fools. Some people think she can be a bit curt and blunt at times, but I’ve always respected her straightforwardness, especially since they often say the same about me.

  “It’s good to see you, L-T,” I say. “You look good.”

  “Never pictured you as a roses kind of guy,” she replies.

  That same wistful smile touches my lips again, and I point to the Marilyn Monroes. A cool breeze blows through, stirring the bushes around us.

  “Those were Veronica’s favorites,” I tell her.

  Welsh nods, a small, knowing frown pulling the corners of her lips down. We stand in an awkward silence for a couple of mome
nts. She clears her throat and pulls her jacket around her a little tighter, probably more to give herself something to do than because she’s actually cold.

  “How are you doing with that?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Still good days and bad days,” I sigh. “I’m still figuring it all out.”

  “Been nearly three years, Pax.”

  “Yeah. I know. Everybody tells me to accept it and move on,” I respond. “I figure I’ll get there at some point. Until then though, at least I have my work to keep me busy.”

  She favors me with an empathetic smile. “Yeah. Well, speaking of working,” she starts, “I assume you’re not wired?”

  I hold up the key fob and take my hand off the button, letting it drop into my jacket pocket. Now that I know who I’m meeting, knowing it’s somebody I can trust, I don’t want or need to tape the conversation.

  “We’re clear,” I tell her. “It’s just us.”

  “Not exactly accurate.”

  “No?”

  She pulls a small two-way radio out of her own pocket and keys the mic in three quick bursts; a prearranged signal for all clear.

  “Didn’t know you were bringing a date,” I note.

  “Arranging a date,” she replies with a grin. “Just think of me like Tinder.”

  “Charming. That’s a visual I won’t be able to get out of my head anytime soon.”

  I don’t need her to tell me who’s going to be coming down the path. I already know. And when I see his silhouette emerge from around the bend, I nod to myself.

  Commissioner Zachary Gray. He’s a large man. Probably an inch or two taller than me. He’s got a wide body that looks like it had once been chiseled out of rock. Now, with the passage of time, being stuck behind a desk, and with a never-ending line of fancy dinners on his schedule, Commissioner Gray has started to develop a bit of a paunch. Still, he’s a big man who looks like he can handle his business, which for a man well into his sixties, is impressive.

  “I’ll leave you two to it,” Welsh says. “Good to see you, Pax.”

  “You too, L-T,” I respond. “Keep your head on a swivel out there.”

  She laughs. “About the only thing I have to worry about these days are papercuts and eye strain.”

  She gives Gray a nod as she passes him on the pathway. Then he’s standing before me, extending his hand. His face is grim. I give him a firm shake.

  “Nice to see you again, Chief,” I say.

  “It’s Commissioner now, you know.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I know. Chief’s just easier to pronounce.”

  A smirk pulls the corner of his mouth upward. My direct interaction with him, while I was at the SPD, was minimal, but he proved to be one of my only allies at a time when I needed one most. I have little doubt that if not for him showing up at an opportune moment, Boo Radley would have put a bullet or twelve into me. But he made the jump to Commissioner largely on the strength of that corruption bust. And his profile was raised even higher when I busted Alvin Perry.

  “How have you been, Paxton?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

  “I’ve been well. Staying busy,” I reply. “You giving me that public commendation certainly helped my business spike.”

  “You earned it,” he nods. “It was the least I could do. Between Radley and Alvin Perry, it seems like I built the latter half of my career on the back of your work.”

  I laugh softly. “It might have helped, but I think your trajectory was already set.”

  “Perhaps.”

  We stand in silence, staring out at the flowers and other plants swaying gently in the breeze. I don’t know why he’s called me out here, and my curiosity is growing with every passing moment. But I don’t want to press him on it. Not until I know what I’m in for.

  Gray looks pensive. As if he’s debating something with himself in his own mind. He frowns but then gives himself a nod as if he’s finally come to a decision. He turns to me and clears his throat.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here,” he starts.

  “It crossed my mind,” I reply. “As well as the need for all the cloak and dagger. Couldn’t we have met up at a bar and talked about it over a drink?”

  “Frankly, no,” he says. “I know this will sound strange, and probably a little dramatic, but I can’t afford to be seen with you.”

  “You’re right. That does sound a little dramatic.”

  “It’s, unfortunately, a necessity since I need your help,” he replies.

  The whole mystery of whatever is happening here intrigues me. Gray has never been the kind of man to mince words or play games. He’s always straight up. Honest. You always know where you stand with him. Which is what makes this interesting.

  I remain silent and watch him closely, interested in seeing how this shakes out and what he’s got cooking that he’d need my help with.

  “I heard you’re looking into the Stella Hughes murder?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, Marcus is an old family friend,” I confirm. “He asked me to look into it on my own.”

  Gray frowns again and nods, and although he probably already knew that I can feel him bristle anyway. At the heart of things, he’s a cop. And when you’re a cop, you’re protective of your turf and don’t like giving an inch to outsiders. I may not like to admit it, but the fact of the matter is that since I no longer have a badge, I’m an outsider. But I know Gray is pragmatic. He will do whatever it takes, use any legal means at his disposal— he’s a big proponent of bending, not breaking the law— to bring justice to a victim.

  He takes one more deep breath and then lets it out.

  “Stella Hughes isn’t the first girl this guy has murdered. We’ve kept it quiet in the department and out of the press to this point,” he says bluntly. “We’ve made sure different detectives are assigned to the different cases and have been trying to prevent any overlap, so it doesn’t get flagged.”

  “Why would you do that?” I ask. “People have a right to—”

  “Because we’re not that far removed from Alvin Perry. The last thing I want is a public panic about another serial killer running around. Ditto that for the mayor. She’s already squeezing me about this and wants it closed quickly— and quietly,” he cuts me off. “So we’ve kept the flow of information tight. There’s only a few of us who know everything right now. We’ve been working behind the scenes to find this guy.”

  He falls silent for a moment, and I see something like regret flash across his face. But it’s gone quickly, replaced with a steely resolve. The mayor has set him an almost impossible task: track down a serial killer as fast as possible and draw no media attention while doing it.

  For a politician like the mayor, this is all about optics. If Seattle is believed to be a hunting ground for serial killers, the tourist dollars the city relies on will start to dry up. It also could potentially impact the mayor’s re-election chances. And with an election year coming up, she’s going to be hyper-focused on the optics of— well— everything.

  I don’t envy Gray his position right now. Not only does he have to worry about hunting and then neutralizing a serial killer, but he also has to worry about the political sensibilities of a mayor who is demanding the impossible. This story is going to get out. And Gray is going to have to either figure out how to manage it or get torn up in the explosion that is coming. In this world of Facebook and Twitter, nothing stays a secret for very long.

  “I see we were wrong to do that now,” he admits. “The staging of the first victim told us there would be more bodies dropping. It definitely wasn’t going to be a one-off. But we still thought we could get ahead of it.”

  “But, you couldn’t.”

  He shakes his head, miserable. “We couldn’t.’

  I look at him closely, that feeling of ice suddenly rushing back through my veins again. But this time, it’s blended with a thick thread of adrenaline. A simmering sense of dark excitement. Like the deepest, most primal urges in me ar
e bubbling to the surface. I know how utterly wrong it is to feel those things. This isn’t a game; this is real life. But I can’t control it. It’s like a natural response inside of me.

  Does that make me a monster too? Brody had called the killer a Jekyll and Hyde, based on the different styles of killing. But am I any different? There’s the staid and controlled side of my personality, and the one who gets an adrenaline rush when he finds out there’s a serial killer on the loose. Am I just as much a Jekyll and Hyde sort as the man we’re hunting?

  I don’t know. People can debate it when I’m dead. All I see is that the monster who killed Stella is bigger than I thought, and I have a chance to make a real difference by bringing him down.

  “How many?” I ask.

  He sighs heavily. “Stella Hughes is the fourth in the past six months.”

  “Jesus.”

  Gray nods. “Yeah.”

  “How do you know it’s the same guy?”

  He looks out over the flowers as if the sight of something beautiful could somehow wash away the ugliness of the world. He’d have a better chance of convincing the sun not to rise tomorrow.

  “He took their hearts,” he says. “All four of them.”

  There’s the keep-back. The missing hearts were the one thing kept out of the press. And removing the hearts is a pretty specific signature for a killer, which I’d say is a solid connection between all four cases.

  “Why not turn this over to your detectives?” I ask.

  Gray shoots me an incredulous look. “I think you know why. The pissing and backbiting over credit and territory have already started,” he sighs. “I’m not taking the case away from anybody. In fact, I’m setting up a task force inside the department so these guys can pool their resources. But you know how this game works.”

  I nod. I know exactly how it works. I know it all too well. But still, I’m surprised that Gray would pull me into this, given the fact that I’m not a cop. As I think about it for a minute though, I wonder if it’s because I’m not a cop that he’s pulling me into it.