Violence of the Father (A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 2)

by Raine, Charlotte

  The city is like that. You cannot enter it without becoming lost in its vastness and it will change you from an innocent person to someone who is capable of unspeakable acts. Before the incident with Mary Fitzgerald, I could never imagine using a nail gun as a weapon against someone, but now I know that survival sometimes requires more than pacifism.

  Sometimes others have to be hurt in order for a person to live without substantial compromise.

  I stop when we’re a few minutes away from my apartment. Tobias and I have barely talked—some conversation about the weather, some talk about the case, some comment about being safe with a serial killer on the loose—and I know I need to get this all out before we reach my apartment building.

  Before I can open my mouth, Tobias turns to me.

  “What is going on?” he asks.

  “With what?” I ask, trying to stall.

  “With our relationship,” he says. “Just spit it out. Whatever you want to say. I thought I wanted to hold onto you as long as possible—forever, if I could—but I don’t want you to stick around if you don’t want to. I don’t want to be the anchor that’s keeping you in a place you don’t want to be.”

  “You’re not holding me back,” I answer, choosing my words carefully.

  “Just say what you need to say,” he replies, enunciating every word

  “Our views are very different,” I say. “And they’re views that aren’t going to be changed any time soon. I’m not going to stop being Christian, you’re not going to suddenly become Christian. I want children and you…you don’t think that you can handle trying to conceive a child or have a child in any way. These are two differences that aren’t going to go away.”

  “We can work thorough it, though,” he says. “I don’t mind that you’re Christian—in fact, I think it makes you a better person. As for children, I just…I can think about it.”

  “But you won’t change your mind and I don’t want you to change your mind just to make me happy,” I say. “I don’t want to have a child with you and wonder if you only care about the child because of me.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that,” he says. “I would love any child I raised with you. I just…I don’t know if love is enough. I can’t worry about losing another child. I can’t risk it again.”

  “I know,” I say. “And that’s why I think in our personal lives, we need to go our separate ways.”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “We can work this out.”

  “I thought you said you wanted to know what’s on my mind,” I say.

  “I do. And I knew it was something like this but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. I just need another chance.”

  “It’s not solely about you. It’s about both of us. We want two different things,” I say.

  “I want you,” he states.

  I take a deep breath, the warmth of tears threatening to spill over onto my cheeks.

  “You should head back home.”

  “I can’t. My apartment is still under investigation.”

  I cover my face with my hands, trying to keep any weakness from slipping through. “Please. Just go. To a hotel, to a friend’s. I don’t care.”

  I feel his hand squeeze my shoulder. A second later, it’s gone, leaving only a cold breeze, erasing the heat of his hand.

  When I open my eyes, he’s already ten feet away from me. I turn and I continue walking to my apartment. I can’t be seen crying in the middle of this volatile city, so I wipe away every tear that escapes from my eyes. I keep my pace as fast as possible without running. I just need to lock myself in my apartment and sleep until tomorrow.

  Somebody slams into me. My arms scrape against the sidewalk as I fall against it. I reach for my gun, but it’s gone. I must have left it at the station in my rush to leave. Stupid move.

  As I push myself back onto my knees, someone grabs me around the neck. Their hands are so big that it has to be a man. His grip tightens as he tries to choke me.

  I elbow him. He jerks back, but he keeps his grip on my throat. My chest feels like it’s about to explode and my vision is beginning to blur around the edges. I can feel my body giving into weakness. There’s only a few seconds left for me to react.

  I throw my head back, bashing my head against my assailant’s face. He grips loosens. I push against him to propel myself forward. As I turn around to face him, I see he’s wearing a mask. He regains his footing and comes charging at me. I send a quick prayer, thanking God for the fact that I’ve been taking kickboxing for the last few years. I put all of my weight on my right leg and swing my left leg at his abdomen. I feel his body fold into my foot and he crashes back onto the sidewalk.

  As I catch my breath, he stumbles back onto his feet. I prepare myself for another attack, but he takes off running in the opposite direction. I rub my neck. I want to go after him, but we’re too evenly matched and I don’t have my Glock. It would be foolish to pursue him.

  I glance down the streets. There’s a few people standing at the corner across the street, but they seemed unfazed by what they saw. I’m sure they’ve seen lots of violence and denied seeing it as well. I should really move to a better place in the city.

  I continue to walk to my apartment, albeit faster now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tobias

  New Hearts Adoption Agency Rallies Behind Anti-Gay Message

  Adoption Agency, New Hearts, Supports Traditional Family Values

  New Hearts, Detroit Adoption Agency, Buys Old Auto Plant for Expansion

  Local Adoption Agency Stops Renovations to Abandoned Auto Factory

  “Where’s Lauren?” Romano asks as he stops by my desk.

  “She went home,” I say.

  “That’s too bad,” he says. “I wanted to ask her what I should buy for an anniversary gift for my wife. She’s the only woman around here who seems to have good taste. I saw O’Neill from sex crimes unit clipping her toe nails at her desk. Who does that?”

  “Apparently, O’Neill from sex crimes does it.”

  He shakes his head. “So, what are you doing here, then? Since you and Lauren began dating, you usually don’t come here without her.”

  I rub my temple. There’s no point in telling him we broke up because then he’ll expect me to share my feelings and I’m not going to do that.

  “I just wanted to check out this adoption agency a bit further. Lauren thinks the owner of the agency could be the killer,” I say.

  “Really?” he asks. “Someone who brings joy and a spankin’ new baby to lonely couples is a killer? Can we not consider anyone innocent anymore?”

  “We never could consider anyone innocent,” I say. “You know how many nurses have killed people?”

  “No, I don’t know, because I don’t have a girlfriend who is a human encyclopedia,” he says. He gazes at the screen from over my shoulder. “Hey, I remember that story about the auto plant. My brother-in-law was there, installing electrical wiring. He said that was all the subcontractors working there were suddenly just told to stop working and go home one day. He figured the company just ran out of money, but he did say later that he doesn’t think the company ever sold the building, so I guess it wasn’t about money.”

  “Why would they keep the building?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the owner when you two interrogate him on whether or not he’s a serial killer. And if he still wants to renovate, I’m sure my brother-in-law’s company would still love to do it.”

  I tap my pen against my desk, my mind racing. “Is this building in an obscure place?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been there. But my brother-in-law originally thought it might be a financial issue because most of the buildings around them were abandoned too. Couples would have had to go out of their way to adopt a kid. I would say it’s an unfriendly neighborhood, but I never saw any pedestrians in the photos he showed me.”

  “Your brother-in-law showed
photos of the building?”

  “Whenever we get together, he just talks about work,” he says. “You would think he’d be more interested in my job, but no. He’s always showing off what he’s doing. That’s why I would prefer if he were busy and working, so I don’t have to have him over at my house three times a week. People are the worst.”

  He shuffles back to his desk. I now remember why Romano and I are on friendly terms, but not friends: we both hate the world. We’re like asshole comrades.

  I search for the address of the factory, finally finding it in an article from almost a decade ago when the plant was shut down. It’s a long shot, but if I were crucifying bodies, a place like this would be perfect. And to a morally righteous, insane person, it would be well worth the money to keep it.

  * * *

  I imagine in the future, when they talk about ruins, this is what they’re going to imagine. The cement is grimy, as are the dozens of windows. There’s a half-finished graffiti tag. The most likely scenario is that the vandal saw someone coming and feared that it was the police, so he ran, but who would come out all of the way down here? It’s an urban wasteland.

  The front door to the building seems to be made of iron and has a large padlock, keeping the building secure. I look up. None of the windows are low enough that I could break in. I don’t want to do anything illegal, but this is a person that broke into my apartment and nailed human flesh to my wall while leaving a threat for my girlfriend and me. I’m not going to lie down and take that kind of harassment simply because unlawful entry is illegal. Some other detectives would worry that this will ruin the case once it's brought to court, but it can't be brought to court if I don't have any hard evidence and I'm not going to risk another person's life just because I'm concerned about some defense attorney whining about illegal search and seizure. I'll tell them I thought I heard someone crying out for help.

  Unlike in the movies, a handgun can’t break through a lock like this. I wish it were that simple, but wishes never got me anywhere. I find a jagged piece of a steel I-beam. I slam it against the lock. The lock swings back and forth, but doesn’t seem damaged at all. I continue to hit against the lock. The edges of the beam cut into my palms, but after the sixth hit, I feel the lock break apart.

  I drop the I-beam and pull off the lock. I jerk the door open. As I step into the building, I listen carefully. There are no screams, no sound at all.

  “Hello?” I call out, cringing as I realize the killer could be here. But I hear nothing. I continue walking into the building. Piles of cement hunch in the center of the floor, so the construction workers must have been tearing a wall down. There’s also old wooden pallets thrown onto some of the piles and a trash can filled to the brim with strips of wood, bent metal, and a pizza box. From the outside, the building looked like it had three or four floors, so this exploration could take some time.

  Well, I have nothing else to do right now.

  I hustle up the stairs. The next floor isn’t much different, except there are wooden posts outlining the beginning of a wall, and a roll of fiberglass insulation. As I walk closer, I notice one of the walls has drywall panels against it. I can feel my heart beat in my chest as I approach it. I tell myself it’s nothing, but my instincts tell me that no construction worker would have left those panels there, slanted against the posts, when they had only finished building half of the other walls.

  I pull the drywall panel away from the closest wall. As it crashes to the floor, I see inside the room.

  There’s a wooden cross—just like the ones used for the other victims—lying against the wall. Pools of blood have coated large parts of the floor. There’s a bucket of nails in the corner and a bullwhip beside it. It almost feels surreal—a religious torture chamber. The only thing that would make it worse is if there was a body here.

  I take several steps back, taking out my phone. I think of calling Lauren, but after she broke up with me, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get ahold of her a few hours later. I call Romano instead.

  “Hey, Tobias,” he answers.

  “Remember how you said your brother worked at the auto factory and they suddenly shut down the job?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember how you said you hated people?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You need to come down to this factory and see how those two questions relate,” I say, gazing over the room again. “Bring everybody except Lauren.”

  “What did you find?” he asks.

  “Hell,” I say. “I found Hell.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I stand outside the New Hearts building, staring at their sign. It’s the shape of a heart with the words “New Heart” in the center of it with the letters in gold and written in calligraphy. There’s something about it that keeps catching my attention, but I can’t figure it out.

  I turn as I hear a car pull up. It’s a red Volvo S60. Lauren’s car. She gets out of the car, wearing sunglasses and a white scarf around her neck.

  “It’s spring,” I say. I hand over her Glock, which I’d found when I returned to the station after walking her home. “Why are you wearing a scarf?”

  “Maybe I decided I want to get into fashion,” she says, taking the gun and putting it in her holster.

  “Yeah, I’m not an expert on fashion, but I’m pretty sure those people wear silk scarves or at least ones made with thin material. They don’t wear winter scarves.”

  “Are we seriously talking about fashion?” she snaps. “Come on. Let’s go interrogate this guy.”

  “You know my mother began wearing a scarf one day,” I say, opening the building’s door and gesturing for her to walk through. “It was a day after my father was particularly drunk. He promised to go to rehab the next day, but it didn’t work out too well, considering the fact that when he swore he was going to rehab, he went to a bar instead.”

  “What are you trying to say?” she asks, stepping into the adoption agency. We both walk past the secretary—a new woman who looks like she’s approaching ninety—and flash our badges.

  “I’m saying that you should tell me who attacked you, so I can hunt them down and show them how ugly Detroit can be,” I say. “You know, just some retaliation for hurting my work partner.”

  She knocks on Patrick White’s door. “That’s sweet—in a creepy, possessive way.”

  “If someone tried to strangle you, I think it’s a normal reaction to want to hurt them back,” I say. “Was it our Commandment Killer? Or just some creep on the street?”

  “I have no idea,” she says. “He was wearing a mask.”

  “Well, did he try to take money from you or attempt to sexually assault you?”

  “I clocked him a good one on his face, so if we see him again, we’ll know. In the meantime, let’s not play detective about my life,” she says, knocking on the door again. “Mr. White, we need to talk to you.”

  “This isn’t me being a detective. This is me being empathetic. I’m sorry if your personality traits rubbed off on me,” I say.

  She looks straight at me for the first time.

  “Why do you look so tired? Are you wearing the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?” she asks.

  “Who’s being a detective now?”

  “I’m not being a detective. I’m wondering if you’ve already rebounded with some random chick in a bar.”

  “No,” I say. “I just happened to check out a building that Patrick White owns, which had all of the evidence that he’s indeed the killer.”

  She stares at me. “You what? What evidence? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Just a wooden cross, a lot of blood, nails, and a whip,” I say. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You clearly wanted to be alone, so I called Romano and he called everyone else.”

  “Are you punishing me for breaking up with you?” she demands, stepping closer to me. It would be intimidating if she weren’t three inches shorter than me.

  “No, I
was working after my partner told me that she wanted to be home,” I say. “I was simply giving you what she wanted.”

  “I can’t believe this,” she mutters. She slams her fist against the door. “Patrick White! This is the police!”

  “He’s not here right now.”

  We both turn to see Christopher Lush.

  “Where is he?” Lauren asks.

  Christopher looks a lot more frazzled today than he did when we first saw him—the suave gentleman is gone, leaving behind an insecure wreck.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “But it’s crazy here and the temp we got isn’t working out. Is Julia going to be let go from police custody any time soon?”

  “We released her from police custody last night,” I say. “She should have been able to come into work today.”

  He shakes his head. “No. I’ve tried calling her three different times this morning. She’s not answering.”

  I look at Lauren. “She could be sleeping.”

  “Or, she could be considered to have broken the ninth commandment—thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. A person who pretends to be a meek woman that’s interested in a married man in order to get a newspaper story isn’t going to be someone our killer likes.”

  “We have to get to her house,” I say. “She lives alone. It would be an easy place to torture her.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Lauren grabs my arm and leads me toward the door. As I reach for the door handle, it swings open and Patrick White steps in.

  “Hey, Detectives,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to almost knock you two out. Did you need to talk to my son again?”

  “Uh, no,” I say. “We wanted to talk to you.”

  “Where’s Julia?” Lauren blurts.

  “Julia?” he asks. “I fired her. She admitted to using her position to seduce a client in order to help her other job. I can’t have that kind of immorality in here. I don’t want to spread any negativity in my waiting room, though, so why don’t we talk in my office?”