The Deepest Wound

by Rick Reed

  She replied indignantly, “You asked for me personally?”

  Trent squeezed her hand and favored her with his most gracious smile. “Okay, partly because you’re family, but mostly because you’re the best investigator the state police has, Brooke. You always were a smart girl.”

  Brooke smiled at the compliment. He’s right. I am the best. That means I’m too good to be his family lap dog.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  It was dark when Jack finished gassing up. He was replaying the video in his mind when his car radio came to life. “One David fifty-four,” the dispatcher called.

  Jack pulled the radio mic from the holder and pressed the transmit key. “One David fifty-four.”

  “One David fifty-four. Vanderburgh County, Unit three, Deputy Waligura, is requesting you at the Ridley Farm.”

  “Has he got a cow in the road?” Jack wanted to ask, but he refrained. “What has he got?”

  “One David fifty-four,. He advised there is a van submerged in a pond. Fire rescue divers and a wrecker are on scene. He thinks it might be the white van you put the BOLO on.”

  Jack had no clue where the Ridley Farm was, but the dispatcher gave him decent directions. Ten minutes later, he was standing beside Deputy Sheriff David Waligura at the edge of a pond. A flatbed tow truck and a fire rescue truck were parked on the grass nearby with spotlights trained on the pond.

  Jack shook hands with the deputy.

  “There’s two rescue divers in the water,” Waligura said.

  Three teenagers were lounging against the deputy’s cruiser and Waligura yelled at them. “Get off my car! But don’t go anywhere.”

  The boys stared at him defiantly, but sat down on the grassy hill, nudging each other and smirking. They were soaking wet.

  “Buncha little pukes,” Waligura muttered.

  “I take it those are the kids who found the van?” Jack asked.

  Waligura sighed. “You won’t get much out of them. Bunch of juvenile delinquents. Troublemakers.”

  “At least they called it in,” Jack offered, and Waligura laughed out loud. He seemed to have a history with these kids.

  A diver surfaced and gave the wrecker driver the thumbs-up sign. A winch powered up, and soon a van slowly emerged from the pond by the front end. Cloudy green water gushed out of the open windows. When the van cleared the bank and was pulled to the rear of the flatbed, Jack and Waligura walked around to the back of it.

  Streams of muddy water spurted out of holes that pocked the back cargo doors. She hit it, Jack thought, checking the number of holes in the back doors. Nice pattern. Good for you, Marcie!

  The deputy whistled admiringly. “You say a cop’s wife did that?”

  Jack nodded.

  “That’s why I didn’t teach my old lady how to shoot.”

  “I’d like to get my crime scene guys here, if that’s all right with you,” Jack said to the deputy. “I’ll do the tow ticket.”

  Waligura was more than happy to let the city boys take over. The county was huge and he was one of two deputies covering the entire north side tonight.

  “Be my guest,” he said, and then halfheartedly offered to stick around. He was delighted when Jack declined. “I’ll just send the little darlings over to lean against your car,” he said, and strode toward the teens.

  “Is this far enough?” the wrecker driver called out to Jack.

  “That’s fine,” Jack said. “After my guys get here, they’ll tell you where to take it.”

  The driver shut off the engine and settled in for the wait.

  Jack called Captain Franklin, told him the details, and was assured crime scene and a detective were headed his way.

  Jack also called Eric Manson. He really didn’t need a search warrant, but he didn’t want to be accused of keeping secrets from the almighty prosecutor’s office. Eric didn’t answer, so he left a voice mail.

  The last call he made was to his new BFF with the state police. Brooke answered on the first ring and sounded glad to hear from him.

  “Guess what I’ve got?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t care. Where are you?”

  Once Brooke hung up, she turned to Trent and said in an apologetic voice, “I’ve got to go. We’ve found the van, and I need someone to type up a search warrant,” she said, leaving out the fact that Jack Murphy was involved. She took a twenty out of her wallet, but Trent waved it away.

  “Go,” Trent said, and stood to get her chair as she rose. “I’ll get someone in to the office.”

  She beat a hasty retreat. As she headed north in her car, she thought, First the video and now the van. Murphy was having an incredibly lucky day. Then again, these killers were very busy boys.

  The boys jeered at the retreating deputy as Jack approached them. One of them said, “Up yours, Walleye”—obviously a play on the name Waligura—and the others made halfhearted gang signs.

  The one Jack took for the leader was a head taller than his two friends. He was almost as tall as Jack, and at fourteen or fifteen, he was a few years older as well. The boy turned his back to Jack and pulled the tail of his wet shirt over something.

  “You a cop?” one of the boys asked. This one was scrawny and was probably the youngest one. The other kid was short and chubby and had a double chin already.

  Jack made a show of letting them see the badge on his belt and the gun on his hip as he walked past the two smaller ones and put a hand on the leader’s shoulder.

  “What have you got there, son?” he asked, and turned the boy around. The light from the rescue diver’s truck barely reached them, but it was enough to cause Jack’s pulse to beat harder. The grip of a semiautomatic pistol stuck out of the kid’s waistband.

  “Isn’t that Trent?” Katie asked, while Eric informed the hostess they had a reservation.

  He followed her gaze and saw Trent sitting at a table inside Bone Fish Restaurant, and a woman getting to her feet and leaving in a hurry.

  “Don’t look,” Eric whispered in Katie’s ear. “I don’t want to get stuck at their table.”

  Katie knew for sure the woman wasn’t Trent’s wife, because she’d met her at several official functions. “Who was that with him?”

  Eric took her by the arm, leading her past the front behind their waiter. “She’s Jack’s replacement,” he said with what Katie thought was great satisfaction. “State police special investigator.”

  They were shown to a table on the other side of the huge room, and as she sat down Katie noticed the woman leaving the restaurant looked harried.

  “Does he always take young attractive investigators out to eat?” she asked, and Eric laughed.

  “Would it bother you if that were me?” he teased.

  The waiter handed them menus and she pretended to study it, even though she already knew what she would get. The bang-bang shrimp were was to die for.

  “In answer to your question,” Eric said, “that’s Brooke Wethington. Trent’s her uncle. So no, he doesn’t take other women out. Nor do I, Katie. I love you.”

  Katie smiled and focused on her menu.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  The handgun was caked with mud, but Jack recognized it as a Glock .45 semiauto. With a five-and-a-half pound trigger pull, even a skinny fifteen-year-old could pull the trigger. The kid held the gun out, and Jack took it by the checkered pistol grips using his thumb and forefinger. Of course, the kids’ prints were probably all over it by now.

  The gun was heavy. Still loaded.

  “I found it,” the kid said obstinately, “and possession is nine tenths of the law. So I get to keep it, right?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  The kid looked at his friends and bragged, “I done time. That’s how I know.”

  “Where did you find it?” Jack demanded. But his authority didn’t faze the kid.

  “I know my rights,” the boy said. “You can’t question me without my guardian present. And you have to give me fifteen minutes to talk to them
alone to decide if I’ll talk to you or not.”

  Jack wanted to throw the kid back in the lake. Instead he took a deep breath and said, “You’re not under arrest. So you don’t get an attorney or a guardian.”

  The kid rolled his eyes and turned his head away. “Whatever.”

  “I’m investigating the attempted murder of a police officer, so I’m going to overlook the fact that you were in possibly in possession of his gun.”

  “So, I’m kind of like a witness for the state?” the kid said, sounding a lot younger.

  Jack nodded. “That’s right. You’re a key witness. So where did you find this gun?”

  Once he started, it was impossible to shut him up. Dakota, or Dak, as he liked to be called, had found the submerged van. He had also found the pistol on the bottom of the lake near the van. “Me and my crew decided to chill for a while.” Jack sized up the two other boys with Dak. They had spoiled rich brat written all over them. Dak might well become a criminal, but the other two were just playing.

  “Explain it to me again,” Jack said. Dak described everything with skinny arms outstretched, hands and fingers making gang signs.

  “Like I said. We were swimming, and Bobo—that’s him there,” he said, pointing to the scrawny kid, “felt something under his feet.”

  Bobo nodded his head like a bobble-head toy.

  “Was the gun in the van? Did you or your friends get in the van?” Jack asked.

  “That’s crazy talk,” Dak said, slinging out an arm for emphasis. “I seen a movie once where they got in a car underwater and got stuck inside.”

  “Okay, so where was the gun? How did you find that?”

  Dak wrapped his arms tight across his chest defiantly, and said, “Do I get to keep the gun if it don’t belong to that cop?”

  Waligura was right. They are pukes. “So how and where did you find the gun?” Jack asked again.

  “Well, we dove down and found what Bobo hit with his feet. It was some kind of van. I figured it was ditched there after a drug hit. You know, maybe some dead bangers inside.”

  Jack fought the urge to laugh, but maintained eye contact and waited.

  “My crew, they got out the water,” Dak said, and then made diving motions with his arms. “But I kep’ on diving, feeling all around in the mud and shit. I musta gone down a dozen times before I found it.”

  Once the other members of the “crew” saw Dak cooperating, they all wanted to add their own animated descriptions, but Jack stilled them with an outstretched palm, promising them all a trip to police headquarters, where they could tell a detective.

  Crime scene arrived first and began working their magic, and then a second shift detective arrived, loaded up the youngsters—sagging pants and all—in his car.

  “You need statements?” the detective asked.

  “Yeah. Especially the tall skinny one.”

  As the detective turned toward his car, Jack stopped him. “And you better pat them down before they get in your car. They’ll understand that. I’m looking for a flash drive, a thumb drive, about so big,” and he held his fingers apart again. The detective nodded in understanding and went to shake the kids down.

  Jack stopped one of the crime scene techs and showed them the weapon he’d taken from Dak.

  “Looks like one of ours.”

  “Yeah, I want to verify this is Liddell’s.”

  Jack and Liddell had been issued their Glocks at the same time about five years ago when the police department switched over from the Smith & Wesson 9mm pistols. Since the department bought the pistols in one huge batch, two hundred sequential serial numbers had been issued.

  “Can you hold a light on here?” Jack said, and pulled his own pistol. While the tech held a flashlight, Jack compared the serial numbers on both weapons. His was one number higher than the one they had just recovered. It was probably Liddell’s gun.

  The tech gloved up and took the gun from Jack, dropping the clip, and ejected the live round from the chamber. “Silvertip forty-five ammo like we carry. It hasn’t been fired, Jack. Latent fingerprints are a crapshoot after it’s been in the mud and handled by those kids. I’ll run it through if you want.”

  Jack shook his head. “I’m going to give it back to Liddell,” he said. “Can you just take a few pictures and document that I’m keeping it?”

  The tech did what was asked and continued on his way over the recovered van. Jack made his way through the weeds to the water and washed most of the mud from the pistol, reloaded it, and shoved it in his back pocket.

  “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” a female voice said behind him.

  Jack turned and found Brooke standing by his car door, smiling.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  To Jack’s displeasure, Brooke pulled a major crime scene no-no and lit up a filtered Camel while they examined the recovered van. Halogen work lamps played over the vehicle, creating a dome of light in the darkness.

  “Back seats have been stripped out,” Brooke said, pointing out the obvious.

  “I can see those things haven’t killed too many brain cells,” he said wryly. “Still think these aren’t our guys?”

  “Okay, you were right,” she said, “Happy?” She deftly flicked the cigarette into the water.

  “Damn right,” Jack said. “The killers are starting to make mistakes. You take the van, I’ll take the gun.”

  “Why don’t I take both?” she asked, holding a hand out for the pistol.

  “I’m giving this back to my partner. That’s why.”

  “I could probably take you in a fair fight,” she said with a straight face, “but I heard you don’t fight fair.”

  Jack wasn’t sure who was filling her in, but he merely said, “A few people taking a dirt nap would agree with you.”

  “Okay. You keep the gun. So what now?”

  “I’m going to have dinner,” he said, and when she raised her eyebrows, he added, “Call me if you get anything.”

  He still needed to show the video to Marcie and Liddell, but he was worried about Moira. She hadn’t answered her cell phone, her office phone, or Katie’s home phone. He thought about calling Katie, but if everything was okay, she would worry needlessly.

  He drove down the dirt access road and punched in Moira’s phone number but got her voice mail again. She had better damn well be home. He stepped on the accelerator as he pulled onto Highway 41 and headed south. One of the benefits of being a cop was getting to drive fast. Katie wouldn’t be home or she would have answered the phone. But why wasn’t Moira answering her phone? He called Liddell and explained that he would be a while. He had to go check on Moira. It wasn’t like her to not call at least.

  He drove down a series of twisty side streets and came out in front of Katie’s house. The lights were off inside. He checked his watch again. Almost eight. Maybe they’d given up waiting for him and gone out to eat.

  He went to the front door and knocked, and, not getting an answer, walked to the back, where he found Eric’s business card stuck in the door.

  Moira,

  With Eric at Bone Fish

  Be home soon

  It was Katie’s handwriting. So she went to eat with lover boy, Jack thought. That’s why Eric didn’t answer his phone. But that was an hour ago. How long did it take to eat? And where was Moira? Why hadn’t she left a note for him?

  “Crap!” he said, and got back in his car.

  Moira brushed a stand of hair back and checked the next item on Eric’s list. He wanted all these files on his desk in the morning? It would take hours to find them, and she hadn’t eaten. Plus, she was tired from climbing up and down the ladder. She eyed the stack of file folders she’d placed near the door and groaned inwardly at the thought of carrying armloads of them up the basement stairs. Now she wished she hadn’t told Eric that she would stay. At least he had told Jack why she had had to cancel their dinner plans.

  The building was creepy when it was empty, and
she was glad Nova had left the basement hallway lights on. By the time she was finished, the entire first floor would be dark. She would have to feel her way down the hall to her office unless she could find Nova. Maybe he had a cart she could borrow. Or just maybe he would help her.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  The Taurus sat in the school bus parking lot down the street from the Civic Center building. Clint watched a lone female walk down Main Street. “She shouldn’t be out alone,” he commented.

  “Yeah, there are some seriously dangerous assholes out here,” Book said, and they both laughed. “You know, I’ve been thinking. The boss didn’t say we had to take it easy this time. She wants this one dead, but she didn’t say how.”

  “What have you got in mind?” Clint asked warily.

  “Maybe we can have a little fun. She’ll be dead. She won’t care.”

  Clint remembered the full clip Book had unloaded into the drugstore owner. No point arguing with a man who could lose it like that. He looked at his watch. “It’s time.”

  Both men pulled Nomex balaclavas over their heads and adjusted them. Book checked the action of the Beretta 9mm pistol and holstered it. He pulled a hunting knife from the sheath on his belt and held it up. The fifteen-inch blade ended in a wicked point, making it the perfect killing weapon. The serrated edge opened a cut that was almost always fatal.

  “I’m gonna gut her like a catfish!” Book said. “But I’m gonna have my fun first.”

  “Let’s just get this done, Book,” Clint said.

  The two men moved stealthily from their car and into the bushes at the side entrance of the Civic Center. A pair of headlights turned onto the street a ways down. In a minute it would be alongside them.

  They sidled onto the landing. Book peered through the glass doors while Clint kept an eye on the approaching vehicle.

  “Clear,” Book said, and opened the door with the key the client had left in the bushes for them. They moved inside fast and crouched in the darkness until the car passed. To their right was the door to the stairway. They headed down, deeper into the darkness.