The doctor was having an affair, and he had had an affair with Jasmine. It didn’t matter that Clay was dead while the doctor’s wife was very much alive.
He had broken his friend’s trust, his honor.
And this shame ran deep.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered. And then, before he lost his nerve, he glanced down at his phone again.
The woman was on her back, her shirt open revealing pale breasts while the doctor kissed her hungrily.
Drake felt sick to his stomach.
His thumb hovered over the garbage bin icon, but only for a split-second.
He pressed it, and with that, the video disappeared.
Drake wiped a tear from his cheek, then he left his car and made his way toward the building.
~
“You sure you don’t want something to drink, Drake?”
Drake shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
Ken Smith nodded.
“And do you have something for me?”
Drake pictured Ivan Meitzer’s bruised and battered face and Raul’s bloodied knuckles.
Ken did this for you, Drake.
“I don’t,” he said, aware that Raul had crept up behind him as he spoke.
Ken Smith’s expression soured as he took another sip of scotch. He paused, swirled the liquid, then looked up at him.
“You sure?”
Drake held the man’s gaze.
“I’m sure. If I find anything I’ll let you know.”
Ken Smith’s cheek twitched, but then he turned his attention back to his drink.
Drake’s eyes narrowed. He had expected more, outrage perhaps, or, in the very least, to be berated.
And yet, this silence was somehow worse.
“What about our other situation? The Sergeant?” Ken said at last.
Drake felt anger flash inside him, but he forced it away.
“She’s good,” he said.
Ken raised an eyebrow.
“We won’t be having any further issues with her?”
Drake’s gaze didn’t falter.
“She’s good,” he repeated.
Ken nodded.
“You can go,” he said.
Drake nodded and turned to leave, shoving by Raul in the process.
The elevator opened and he stepped inside.
“We’ll be in touch, Drake,” Ken Smith said from his chair. “I’ll contact you soon.”
Drake scowled.
I bet you will, he thought as the elevator doors closed.
~
“What should we do with him?” Raul asked when Drake was gone.
Ken Smith clipped the end of his cigar, took a dry pull and then struck a match.
As he waited for the sulfur to burn off, he turned his attention to the photographs that Raul had laid on the table in front of him.
His eyes skipped across the images of Drake in Dr. Kildare’s campaign office, first looking back as he opened the door, then the zoomed images of him setting up the camera. Then he stared at Drake hovering over Ivan Meitzer’s slumped form, his fists furled, the man’s face bruised.
Ken scooped up his cell phone next and pressed the play button. Dr. Kildare appeared in the frame, first kissing then caressing his campaign manager.
Drake had given them what they wanted, even if he had gotten cold feet at the last moment. After all, he had set up the camera.
Ken brought the flame to his cigar and watched the wrapper turn a dark gray.
“Should we deal with him?” Raul asked.
Ken leaned forward and picked up the finger bone that Raul had retrieved from Dr. Kildare’s office, and wrapped it in a tight fist.
“No,” he said, without looking up. “We still need him.”
With the video that they had procured, the election was as good as won.
Which meant that they were ready to enact stage two of the plan.
“He’ll come back to us, and we still need him,” Ken said absently. He raised his eyes and stared at Raul. “But I think it’s time for you to make some calls. We need to prepare for what’s next. We need to think about bringing Dane in.”
Raul’s mustache twitched.
“You sure? Even before Drake is on board?”
Ken took a long, slow pull on his cigar, and watched the smoke drift toward the ceiling.
“It’s time, Raul. Make the call.”
Raul nodded and left the room.
The next stage is upon us, Ken thought as he brought the cigar to his lips. And New York City better be ready.
EPILOGUE
DRAKE SIPPED HIS DRINK, AND then turned to face Chase. She was smiling at him, her pretty face lighting up for the first time in as long as he could remember.
“Why are you so happy?” he said over the obnoxious music pounding from the speakers.
Chase shrugged.
“I wouldn’t say I’m happy, not exactly.”
“Then what is it?”
“I dunno. I’m just amazed by you, is all.”
Drake turned back to the bar, noticing that Mickey, who was pretending to be drying a glass, was looking at him out of the corner of his eye.
“You getting soft on me, boss?”
“No—but you seem to…” she paused. “You just have a round-about way of doing things, you know? But you get there in the end.”
An image of the blade slicing across Ryanne’s throat came to mind, but he forced it away.
“Not exactly.”
This put an end to the line of conversation, and for a several minutes Chase and Drake enjoyed their respective drinks without speaking.
“There’s an opening as Sergeant at 62nd precinct, you know,” Chase said at last.
Drake sputtered.
“You’re shitting me, right? I’d rather scoop my eyes out with a rusty spoon than take that job. If they’d have me, of course, which is about as likely as making bacon from pigeon meat.”
Chase threw her head back and laughed, and Drake stared at her. She looked beautiful beneath Barney’s eclectic lighting.
Drake couldn’t look away, even when she stopped laughing. She caught him staring, and he flushed.
“What? You going to miss me or something?” she said in a soft tone that was barely audible over the music.
Drake smirked and took a sip of his drink, enjoying the way it burned his throat.
“Something like that, yeah. I can’t believe that the FBI is going to take you on, though. You. I mean, come on, don’t they have standards? Or is this just some feminist outreach program?”
Chase smiled.
“Well, apparently, my skills outweigh my poor decision making—which consists mainly of being friends with you.”
With that, she raised her glass and Drake cheersed her.
There was another short silence, before Chase said, “I’m going to miss you, too, Drake. But here’s the thing about chasing bad guys; we’re bound to come across each other again eventually.”
“Touché,” Drake said, turning back to Mickey while he finished his drink. The glass felt strange in his frostbitten hand, and the irony of having a burn on his cheek while his hands were frozen was not lost on him.
“Hey, Mickey, you just gonna gawk all day or fill me up?” He turned to Chase, “What’s—”
But Chase was no longer there. Her seat was empty and her glass half full.
“—with this guy?”
Drake lifted his eyes in time to see Chase slipping between the two bouncers guarding Barney’s entrance.
“Yeah, I’m going to miss you, too,” he whispered.
Mickey came over and filled his glass.
“The one that got away,” he said with a wry smile.
“The one I never—”
But his phone rang and Drake paused, pulling it from his pocket. When he saw the word UNLISTED on the screen, he frowned. His first instinct was that it was Ken Smith again, who was probably the last person on earth he wanted to speak to r
ight then, but then he thought that it might be Screech calling from the Virgin Islands or wherever the hell he was ‘working’ from.
In the end, it was neither.
“Hello?” he said.
A quiet, female voice answered.
“Drake? Thank god, I’ve been trying to reach you for days now.”
Drake’s spine suddenly straightened.
“Jasmine? Is everything all right? Is Suzan okay?”
The only sound on the other end of the line was heavy breathing.
Drake bolted to his feet.
“Tell me where you are, Jasmine. I’ll come to you, just tell me—”
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, Drake. I’ve’ been calling and calling…”
“What’s wrong? Goddammit, just tell me—”
“The last thing I wanted is to do this over the phone, but—”
“Jasmine! Just tell me what’s wrong!”
“What’s wrong? Drake… I’m pregnant.”
The glass slipped from Drake’s frostbitten fingers and smashed to the floor.
“You’re what?”
END
~
AUTHOR’S NOTE
~
Damien Drake is best when he’s at his worst.
A fan wrote me this after reading Cause of Death and I couldn’t agree more. FBI Agent Jeremy Stitts also tells Drake that things are going to get a whole lot worse for him before they get better.
If they ever do.
The one thing that’s certain is that Drake’s story is only getting started. But Download Murder also represents a crossroads of sorts. As you might have guessed, Chase is moving on to greener pastures. But before you shed a bucketful of tears, know this: Chase already has her own series brewing, with book one, FROZEN STIFF, due out next month. Her story is deeper, and her past more troubled, than Drake’s books can do justice. Besides, the short, feisty detective deserves her own series, don’t you think?
Alas, Chase is not the only one who’s leaving Drake’s world; Dr. Beckett Campbell is also getting his own series. Unlike Drake and Chase, however, Beckett is only just coming into his own, starting to learn who he really is. And it’s still up in the air whether or not he likes who, or what, he ‘s becoming.
But enough about that noise… I want to talk about Drake, and about Download Murder.
Much of this book, in particular Agent Stitts’s dialogue, was influenced by Gavin de Becker’s work, and specifically his book The Gift of Fear. I highly recommend checking it out as it deals with real, no bullshit ways of identifying specific precursors to violence and how to protect yourself from it. What his vast experience reveals may surprise you. It certainly surprised me.
Oh, and don’t worry, even with Beckett and Chase getting their own series’, Drake will be back before the year’s out. The fourth book in the Detective Damien Drake chronicles is called SKELETON KING, and is available for pre-order. If I have to tell you what it’s about at this point in Drake’s journey, you kinda missed the boat.
Sorry; grab a life preserver and start again from the beginning.
As always, if you have any questions or just want to chat, drop me a line at [email protected]. I have an anxiety-inducing number of unread emails (trust me, it’ll make your head spin), so if I’ve missed yours in the past, email me again. And again. Except for you, mom; I’m ignoring you on purpose.
You keep reading, and I’ll keep writing.
Patrick
Montreal, 2017
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Patrick Logan 2017
Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2017
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.
Fourth Edition: November 2017
MORE BY PATRICK LOGAN
DETECTIVE DAMIEN DRAKE
Butterfly Kisses: A Thrilling Serial Killer Novel
Cause of Death: A Gripping Medical Murder Thriller
Skeleton King
CHASE ADAMS FBI THRILLERS
Frozen Stiff
Shadow Suspect
DR. BECKETT CAMPBELL, MEDICAL EXAMINER MYSTERIES
Organ Donor: A Medical Thriller
THE INSATIABLE SERIES
Skin (Insatiable Series Book 1)
Crackers (Insatiable Series Book 2)
Flesh (Insatiable Series Book 3)
Parasite (Insatiable Series Book 4)
Knuckles (Insatiable Series Book 4.5)
Stitches (Insatiable Series Book 5)
THE HAUNTED SERIES
Shallow Graves (The Haunted Book 1)
The Seventh Ward (The Haunted Book 2)
Seaforth Prison (The Haunted Book 3)
Scarsdale Crematorium (The Haunted Book 4)
Sacred Heart Orphanage (The Haunted Book 5)
Shores of the Marrow (The Haunted Book 6)
FAMILY VALUES TRILOGY
Witch (Family Values Trilogy Book 0)
Mother (Family Values Trilogy Book 1)
Father (Family Values Trilogy Book 2)
COLLECTIONS
Descent Into Darkness
SEE MORE AT PATRICK LOGAN’S AUTHOR PAGE
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