One by One

by Sarah Cain

  “He wanted to get Greg off his back, and what better way than to try to tie his murder into the high school killings? But he needed to make sure someone made the connection.”

  “He knows Greg has been talking to you and makes sure he texts you to get you involved. The tongue’s a little kinky.”

  She looked over at Danny, her face streaked with mud and her hair standing straight up in spots. She smiled, the connection sizzling. When she reached for his hand, he grasped it.

  They had reached the outskirts of Exton, and Alex headed toward 202. The storm had already passed through here, though it seemed to have only grazed the area. Dark clouds drifted well to the north.

  “Do you think we have time to wash up?” Alex asked. “You’re still bleeding.”

  “I think we can take a few minutes to clean up. I might be out of alcohol.”

  “You’re a hot mess, Ryan.”

  “I know. You like it though.”

  “I called Sam and left a message. He hasn’t called me back.”

  “He might not have gotten the message yet. He was worried about you.”

  “Yeah, well we need to—”

  Alex’s phone buzzed. She grabbed it out of her cup holder. “Burton. What? You think what? When? Okay. Will do. Thanks.”

  When she disconnected, she turned to Danny. “Johnny Jeffords isn’t on the property. He took Jenna’s car. I just got a call from one of the cops from the scene at Jenna’s, and he was sort of insistent that we seek out shelter because Johnny just might be looking for us.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe as in you don’t want police protection? Because we could head straight to the hospital. Or maybe you have something else in mind.”

  “Maybe as in I think I know where he’s headed,” Danny said.

  “Damnit, I wish I’d had those goddamn garden shears when he was in the basement. Where are we going?” Alex asked.

  “You drop me at home. You don’t need to get in the middle of this.”

  “Oh, no, you are not doing this to me. We’re in this together, Ryan. You tell me where to drive, or I stop right here on the side of the road.” She held the phone in her left hand. “And no. You get no phone privileges. You can barely see, much less drive.”

  “Jesus, Alex. This isn’t a game.”

  “I know that. So we’re either a team or we’re not.”

  Danny wasn’t sure how he’d explain to Sam if something happened to Alex, but he nodded. “All right. You win. We need to get to South Philly. We’re going to the original G and R Scrap yard. I think Johnny Jeffords is going after Stan Riordan.”

  “The water boy?”

  “The caboose on the train.”

  “I think we need some backup on this, Ryan.”

  “I know. I’m going to call Ted Eliot. It’s his case. If you give me the phone.”

  “Kind of risky, don’t you think? Considering you think he’s a killer himself.”

  “I’m going to call Kevin’s partner, too. There’s at least ten Philly cops camped out at HUP. I just hope this kid’s predictable.”

  “I guess we’ll find out.” Alex handed him the phone.

  61

  It was after seven when they neared the South Philly scrapyard. Alex parked across from the yard behind a pile of concrete blocks. Danny led her down a narrow road. The chain link fence was still open, though the trucks had stopped rumbling into the yard for the day. Overhead, traffic whizzed by, though the worst of rush hour had passed.

  “I hope I haven’t screwed this up, too.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Alex said. “Whatever happens.”

  He couldn’t answer. He’d guessed wrong on so much of this case.

  They slipped into the parking lot, and Danny saw a bright-red Mazda convertible with the license plate “COOL GRL.” It stood near a van. He grabbed Alex’s arm.

  “Oh, Lord,” Alex said.

  “Call Jake Martinelli. Tell him we found Johnny Jeffords, and find out how far out he is,” he said.

  She took the phone, and he was creeping closer to the main office when he heard a scream. It was followed by a shot.

  Johnny Jeffords came running out of the scale house holding a gun. Danny waited until he was just past the corner of the building where he and Alex were crouched and threw himself on Johnny.

  Danny had surprise going for him, but Johnny had manic strength. He twisted and bucked until they were rolling in the dirt and gravel, flailing and punching. Johnny’s nose looked smashed, and blood flowed down his face, but he bared his teeth in a sort of grimace and spat before he rammed his fist into Danny’s left side. Danny gasped as pain clawed up his side and tried to kick at Johnny, but he was losing strength. He grabbed a handful of gravel and tossed it in the kid’s face, but Johnny grabbed his arm and slammed it down.

  “Fuck you, you sonofabitch!” Johnny gave him another vicious punch. He grabbed his gun. “I shoulda killed you back at Ma’s. Worthless piece of shit!” He smacked the butt of the gun into Danny’s cheekbone. “I’m gonna kill you. Then I’m gonna take your sweet little friend, and I’m gonna kill her, too. Real slow.” Johnny pulled himself to his knees and knelt on Danny’s chest. “I’d make you watch, but—”

  “Drop the gun!”

  Johnny started to aim the gun. Danny heard a boom, and Johnny’s chest blew apart in a spray of red. He fell down beside Danny, arms spread apart. The gun lay beside his hand.

  “Police. Move very slowly.”

  Danny sat up slowly, trying to force air into his lungs, as he watched the figure in the perfectly cut navy-blue suit walk toward him. He started to stand and then thought the better of it.

  “Don’t move,” Ted Eliot said. “You look like you’ll fall over.”

  “Detective Eliot,” Danny said. “It’s such a nice evening, I’d thought I’d take a minute to enjoy the quiet.”

  “My partner is with Ms. Burton. She’s all right.”

  “Thank you. In a few minutes, this place will be crawling with Philly cops.”

  “It might be helpful if you were to testify that I identified myself before I shot.”

  “Given the situation, you might have read him his rights and I wouldn’t have heard you.”

  “I might have.” Eliot held out his hand. He wasn’t wearing a watch. “I’m going to report that this was Greg Moss’s killer. It will be my last act as a Camden County detective. Will you have a problem with that?”

  Danny let the detective help him to his feet. From somewhere, he could hear the faint strains of Public Enemy’s “Shut ’Em Down” drifting on the evening air from the scale house. It brought back memories of a night long ago. A pool of blood spread out from Johnny Jeffords’s prone body.

  Reporters wrote facts, but Danny was no longer sure what the facts were. Was Greg Moss a good guy or a bad guy? Was he both? Was Ted Eliot acting out of selfish motives or not? Because Danny was reasonably sure Eliot had pulled the trigger on Greg Moss. It wasn’t about land deals or money. It was about self-preservation. And Danny himself had helped Johnny Jeffords kill Frank Greer. Hadn’t he?

  Did the pursuit of good justify bad deeds? Maybe all the sinners really were saints and vice versa.

  Once you killed, did it become easier to kill again? Danny didn’t know. He didn’t want to find out.

  Danny could hear sirens in the distance, and he knew they didn’t have much time.

  “Cromoca. Were you involved?” Danny asked.

  “No. I wasn’t part of it beyond the obvious. But there are some who are involved who know you. They might not have your best interests at heart.”

  “But you aren’t one of them.”

  Eliot shook his head and gave him a wry smile. “I’m not one of them.”

  Police cars were streaming down the side road toward the scrapyard.

  “You’d better check on Stan and the other poor bastard in the scale house,” Danny said. “They’re probably not doing too well, if they’re even still brea
thing.”

  Eliot nodded. “You better get your side checked out, Ryan.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Are we square?”

  Danny considered. Ted Eliot had murdered a blackmailer who was going to profit from the sale of poisoned land, but he’d saved Danny’s life. Did that balance out? Danny was in no position to play God.

  “We’re square,” he said.

  62

  The nurse behind the receiving desk at HUP looked up in surprise when Danny walked off the elevator. Alex had dropped him at the emergency entrance.

  The smell of antiseptic assaulted him, and he kept his eyes on the beige rubber tile floor.

  “Excuse me, sir? Are you all right?” The nurse’s voice cut into his thoughts.

  Danny looked up. “I’m looking for Kevin Ryan. I understand he’s been moved to the ICU?”

  “Sir, are you all right?”

  “Kevin Ryan.” Danny gritted his teeth. It felt as though flames were searing his insides. “I’m his brother.”

  “Your name, sir?”

  “Dan Ryan.”

  “The family lounge is at the end of the hall.”

  Danny forced himself to give her a grim smile. “Thank you.”

  The nurse started to approach them. “Sir, you’re bleeding. You need help.”

  “No.”

  He turned down the hall to the waiting area. When he reached the doorway, he saw Jean, Kelly, Mike, Sean, and TJ huddled together in a miserable knot in the corner. His family. It was all he had.

  “Jean,” he said, and she gave a cry of distress. Then she was on her feet, wrapping her arms around him, leading them to the sofa, into their circle, his family.

  She looked at his battered face. “Oh, my God, Danny, what happened?”

  Jean fumbled in her purse for tissues, and he stilled her hands. He was breaking under the pain of her concern, the affection of these kids hovering around him. His voice shook when he said, “It doesn’t matter. I’m okay. Tell me about Kevin.”

  *

  Danny sat with Jean and the kids, waiting for Kevin. Waiting for him to wake up. Every few hours, a new group of cops would wander in to hug Jean and talk to the kids. It was a second family. The blue line was very real.

  A tall, thin doctor walked into the room, and Danny went to Jean’s side to place his hand on her shoulder. His heart seemed to have lodged in his throat, and he had to let Jean speak as Kelly edged under his arm. The twins crowded in like oversized puppies, and TJ wedged between his brothers. They all huddled together, surrounded by Kevin’s cop family, waiting for the doctor to speak.

  “Mrs. Ryan, your husband is stable. That’s a good sign.”

  He began to talk about the myocardial infarction that had shut down Kevin’s heart and the ten-hour surgery needed to repair the valves, and the whole time, Danny patted Jean like she was a pet retriever while Kelly cried against his chest. His family was together. For now.

  “Hey, man.” Kevin’s partner was leaning over him. “You need to get looked at, buddy.”

  Danny started to protest, but someone pushed him into a wheelchair, and he was too tired to argue. He had a vague memory of someone wheeling him down a hallway before he let himself drift off to sleep.

  *

  When Danny opened his eyes, he was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. He would have jumped out of bed, but he wasn’t sure his legs would support him if he stood. Danny tried to move his arms, but they seemed to be tied down. A second IV line on the back of his left hand had been capped. He’d been transfused recently. Jesus Christ. His clothes were gone.

  His pulse shot up from fifty-eight to ninety. His blood pressure went from ninety over sixty to one thirty over ninety.

  “Oh, hell,” he said. “I hate hospitals.”

  “You’re awake.” The voice came from a figure who sat in a chair by the side of the bed. Danny couldn’t make out the face in the dark, but the soft, low voice was familiar.

  “I’m awake. Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does.”

  The figure shifted in the seat, and Danny watched him steeple his fingers in front of his face. “Maybe it’s better for you to think of me as a dream.”

  Danny tried to feel around for the nurse’s call button. He had no idea what time it was. The door was shut, and only a faint band of light crept under the frame.

  “There’s no need to panic. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “That’s a relief. Why are you here?”

  “Greg Moss was my partner. Let’s just say I have a vested interest in his unfortunate passing.”

  Danny closed his eyes and tried to remember the voice. “We knew each other in high school?”

  “I need you to tell me who killed Greg and why.”

  Danny heard the threat in the soft voice. There was no reason he shouldn’t tell the truth about Ted Eliot, but he knew he wouldn’t. Eliot had been trapped and saw a way out. Danny didn’t condone murder, but he knew the cop would have to live with himself, and that would be hard enough.

  “A kid named Johnny Jeffords,” Danny said. “His mother was Jenna Jeffords. You must remember Jenna. Jumbo Jen. Swamp Creature Jen. She attended a summer party at Greg’s house and pulled a train.”

  Danny knew he sounded as hard and crude as Frank. He wanted to do something to provoke a reaction. Maybe this asshole had been one of the guys who’d been at Greg’s party. Maybe he was Johnny Jeffords’s father.

  “And what part of the train were you?”

  “I wasn’t on board, but thanks for asking.”

  The figure sighed. “Poor deluded Jenna. She loved you.”

  “I didn’t ask for that.”

  “True. But all the same, being the class reject. It warps you.”

  “Were you at Greg’s party?”

  “No, but rejects learn a lot of hard truths. Fairy tales don’t come true. Fat girls don’t become Barbies, and reject kids end up in juvie or worse because that’s the way it is.”

  “You were a reject who ended up in juvie?”

  Danny tried to click through names of every person he knew who’d gone to juvie. His brain moved at a slug’s pace, but it came to him at last. Ray Gretske. He’d been selling dope to Ray under the I-95 overpass the night they were both busted. The night he went to juvie courtesy of his father. Lesson learned, and he wrote his essay. That goddamn essay. It hung around his neck like an albatross.

  “Ray Gretske,” he said. “You were helping Tim Rosina. Why?”

  “I got busted for possession summer before my senior year. A misdemeanor, but I still did six months in juvie. Then I got busted again, and I was looking at serious time. Tim pulled some strings. I don’t know how. So I did him some favors. Why not? Anyway, my mother was one of Tim’s ‘Saturday Night Girls.’ At least he took care of us. Unlike some of her other friends. It didn’t matter. In the end, he left everything to his sister, Olivia. Some people have all the luck, right? So maybe fairy tales do come true, huh?” Ray patted Danny’s arm. “I could kill you right here, you know. Inject enough morphine into your line, and you’d flat line. Maybe they’d save you. Maybe not.”

  Danny’s pulse began to edge up again. Where the hell was that nurse’s call button? Did it matter?

  “Don’t worry. I never forget anyone who was nice to me.” Ray folded his hands, almost as if he were praying. “That bullet just missed your intestines. You might have gotten sepsis, but you didn’t. You are a lucky man. So do yourself a favor—watch your back, especially if you’re going to go digging into Cromoca Partners.”

  “Cromoca Partners,” Danny said. “They’re selling poisoned land as part of that big federal initiative. Greg knew about it. The congressman knows, and so does Senator Harlan. It won’t stay a secret for long. I’m not the only one who’s onto it.”

  “Cromoca doesn’t matter. Not to me. It mattered to Greg because he got greedy. That’s what gets you in the end. Know
your limits. Don’t take more than you need. Besides, Cromoca is just a small part of a larger picture.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m afraid that’s all I’m talking about. I will repeat my advice: watch your back. You’ve made some interesting enemies, Daniel Ryan.”

  “Interesting advice coming from a drug dealer.”

  “You would think so, but I do know my limits. I’ve always been careful. I can thank your father for that.”

  Now he knew he must be dreaming. “My father? My father never gave a damn about anyone.”

  “Not true. He helped me get my record expunged. Now I’m a ghost. Or better yet, an Angel, or an Alien, if you like.”

  Ray stood, and Danny could tell he was dressed in scrubs. “It’s time for you to go to sleep, Danny. Tomorrow this will be a dream. Or maybe it won’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

  It took a second for Danny to realize that Ray held a syringe and was injecting the contents into his IV. He tried to move, but he was held fast to the bed. He opened his mouth to cry out, but the drugs flooded his system, drowning his screams in the onslaught.

  63

  Alex took special care to French braid her long hair and enclose the ends in a gold clip. She slid into a brilliant tangerine dress that clung in all the right places and spent time applying just the right amount of makeup. Nothing covered up the bruise on her left cheek or the scrapes on her arms and legs. She stared at herself in the mirror.

  Sam had already left.

  Last night their discussion had been painful.

  “Alex, this investigation could have killed you. Surely you understand that. I don’t see why you drove out to that house by yourself. No column is worth this.”

  “Yeah. I saw how worried you were. You called at least once.”

  Sam had only shaken his head. “I thought you had decided to leave me. I thought you needed time to think. Even Daniel didn’t know where you were.”

  “Wait! You thought I’d just leave without telling you?” She’d been grateful for the water dripping down from her wet hair. It covered the tears. She told herself they were angry tears; she always cried when she was angry. It was a good distraction from the solid lump in her throat. “I can’t believe you think so little of me.”