The Good Son: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 2)

by Dustin Stevens

  “That’s what he said,” Jackie answered. “I thought it odd too, but said I would pass it on down the line.”

  Reed paused, trying to wrap his mind around it. In his experience, most everything requiring police intervention was cut-and-dried. Either a crime had been committed, or it hadn’t.

  Asking for someone else to take a look was a novelty.

  “You want it, or should I phone the on-call team?” Jackie asked.

  “Who called it in?” Reed asked, bypassing her question.

  “Jacobs,” Jackie said. “He and McMichaels are on the scene now.”

  “Tell them we’re on our way.”

  Chapter Three

  Using the GPS mounted above the radio, Reed pulled up in front of a single-story home just shy of 3:30 a.m. Given the early hour and the non-existent traffic on the roads, he had chosen to run without the flashers, not wanting to draw any more attention to a law enforcement car in The Bottoms than necessary.

  Pulling up to see the flashing blue and red strobes of other vehicles already on the scene, though, he realized it wouldn’t have mattered.

  Reed felt his stomach tighten, alerting him that things weren’t quite as simple as Jackie had made them seem.

  Parked in the driveway was an ambulance, lights flashing on all sides. Behind it, a gleaming red fire engine from the local station reflected those lights and its own around the neighborhood.

  The only vehicle not contributing to the pulsating light show was a single blue-and-white patrol car parked at the curb. Its two officers were rooted to the front steps, arms crossed, blocking the door to the home. On Reed’s arrival, they glanced back and forth between him and the hostile-looking first responders nearby.

  “Why do I not like the looks of this?” Reed asked over his shoulder, seeing the silhouette of Billie’s ears in the backseat.

  Reed cracked all four windows a couple of inches before turning off the ignition. “Stay here.”

  Working with Billie was still new to Reed, despite entering their sixth month together. It was a pairing that had come about only after both had lost their previous partners – Reed’s, a fellow detective; Billie’s, a Marine bomb squad handler.

  They were starting to grow accustomed to their arrangement, though uncertainty still remained in some situations, such as approaching a new crime scene. While Billie did offer unique skills Reed was growing fonder of by the day, she still presented the concern of contaminating evidence.

  A single whine escaped her as Reed looped his badge around his neck and exited, shutting the door behind him.

  The half dozen stares aimed his way made him wonder just how effective his second opinion was going to be in fixing the trouble brewing here.

  “Gentlemen,” Reed said, walking across the clipped grass to a well-maintained white home. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  Officer Wade McMichaels was the first to move, taking a few steps toward Reed, his hand outstretched. He was tall, lean and clean shaven, a frown hiding an otherwise handsome face.

  “Sorry about calling you in,” he said, pumping Reed’s hand once before releasing it. “Wanted another pair of eyes on this before making any definitive conclusions.”

  Reed nodded once as if he understood, reaching past McMichaels to shake the hand of his partner, Tommy Jacobs. A stark contrast to McMichaels, he was a few inches shorter and several pounds heavier, a thin goatee outlining his mouth.

  Both looked to be the better part of a decade younger than Reed, each in their mid-20s, paired up after completing their training years with a senior officer.

  “Not a problem,” Reed said, glancing between them before looking over to the clusters of EMT’s and firefighters standing nearby. “What the heck is all this?”

  “911 call,” Jacobs said, leaving it at that.

  Reed nodded. Standard procedure was for the closest medical, fire and police departments to send someone for all incoming calls. In most instances, a quick assessment was done, and whoever wasn’t necessary was released.

  As far as he could tell, though, nobody seemed to have any intention of moving on.

  “For?” Reed asked.

  “Reported a heart attack in progress and asked for immediate assistance,” McMichaels said. “We were just three blocks away, so we were the first ones to arrive.”

  “Entered to find Esther Rosen in the back bedroom,” Jacobs said. “No pulse, no breathing, body already starting to cool.”

  Again, Reed nodded, processing what he’d been told. He tried to picture the scene in his mind, squaring it with what stood before him.

  “Okay,” Reed said, “so why are they all still here? And why do they look like you just insulted their mother?”

  The two officers exchanged a glance, Jacobs biting his lip as McMichaels took a deep breath.

  “Like he said,” McMichaels began, “she was already growing cold as we found her. She was gone, there was no bringing her back.”

  “And you suspected foul play?” Reed asked, filling in where they were headed. It was the only possible explanation for why everybody else was being kept back, why they continued to linger.

  Once more, the two partners exchanged a quick look. The expressions on their faces revealed they had heard an earful from the other responders, were beginning to doubt their decisions.

  “Sure seems that way,” McMichaels said. “We’d just feel better if you took a look before we called CSU and sent everybody on their way.”

  “Absolutely,” Reed said, his voice relaying a bit more confidence than he actually felt.

  In front of him Jacobs stepped to the side, revealing the front door open, a chunk of the wooden casing on the ground from their entry some time before. The scent of sawdust still hung in the air, mixed just slightly with the aroma of fried food.

  Compared to the burrito he’d just attempted to choke down, it smelled nothing short of divine, even with the sawdust.

  Reed took the three short steps, pausing at the top and glancing over at the medics standing by.

  “Not to make this any uglier, but can you tell them to kill the lights? Whatever this is, we don’t need the media or a bunch of nosy neighbors showing up too.”

  The request drew a pair of smirks.

  “Sure,” Jacobs replied. “They already hate us. This will really make them happy.”

  Chapter Four

  Captain Wallace Grimes was already at his desk as Reed walked up, phone pressed against his ear with his right shoulder, his left hand strumming the desk in front of him. One after another his fingers smacked against the dark wood, each louder than the previous.

  “Yes, I understand,” Grimes said, his voice relaying that he did anything but. “I know, I will speak to them.”

  Standing just outside the door, Reed waited until the conversation ended. In his right hand was the spiral-bound notebook he used for investigations. His left was wrapped around the short lead clipped to Billie’s collar.

  “Okay, thank you for calling,” Grimes said. “I appreciate it.”

  The phone slammed back into its cradle without further comment, Reed looking up to see his captain scowling down at it. Beside him he could sense Billie look his way for guidance, neither one moving an inch.

  “Mattox, get in here,” Grimes said after a long pause.

  “Good morning, huh?” Reed asked, stepping inside the office. He circled around one of the matching chairs opposite the captain’s desk and lowered himself into it.

  “Down,” he added, his voice a bit deeper, sending Billie to her stomach beside him.

  The captain watched the interaction in silence. Just minutes into the start of a new day and already dark circles underscored his eyes, his jowls beginning to sag on either side of his mouth.

  “What the hell did you guys get into last night?”

  Reed hadn’t expected the angry phone calls to begin so early, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. The assembled crews of both the EMT’s and fire department ha
d seemed plenty peeved when he arrived, their emotions rising to full-on pissed by the time he had finished his assessment of the scene.

  Why the fire department was so bitter, he had not yet figured out, though he suspected that was far from the point.

  An opportunity had presented itself for them to complain about the CPD, and in his experience nobody ever really let such an opening pass.

  “Firefighters or medics?” Reed asked.

  The scowl on Grimes’s face grew a bit deeper. “Medics.”

  “Ah,” Reed said, his head rocking back.

  “I take it another complaint will be coming soon?”

  “Certainly,” Reed replied.

  The two men had first worked together in the 19th Precinct. At the time Reed was a new recruit and Grimes a sergeant, later ascending to the post of captain. Upon receiving the promotion he had been asked to move over to the 8th, a spot that the brass claimed was a step up.

  Setting squarely inside the portion of Columbus known as The Bottoms, every other person on the force knew better, the move steeped more in wanting a person of color overseeing the region than anything else.

  Despite the obvious racial overtones at play, somehow they had managed to cajole Grimes into making the switch.

  After the death of his partner six months earlier, Reed had shifted to the K-9 division. His first order of business after doing so was to put in a transfer to the 8th, intending to leave behind all reminders of Riley and start fresh.

  For the first few months the decision had looked nothing short of foolish, though with time things had begun to improve.

  “So, again,” Grimes said, “what exactly did we do this time?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Reed said, “911 came in this morning at 3 a.m. McMichaels and Jacobs were a couple blocks away on patrol and were the first to respond.”

  Reed rattled the information off without consulting his notes, having gone over it several times in the preceding hours.

  “The caller claimed to be experiencing a heart attack, so they knocked once before breaching, finding Esther Rosen in the back bedroom. By the time they arrived, she was already gone. No vitals whatsoever, body already beginning to cool.”

  Grimes laced his fingers across his midsection as he listened, drawing his jaw back into his chest. The action seemed to give him a triple chin, folds of skin gathering along his neck.

  Just weeks past his 50th birthday, the captain was slowly starting to reveal the telltale combination of his age and profession. His black hair was moving on to silver, and the midsection of his uniform shirt was showing a bit of strain.

  “Officers McMichaels and Jacobs secured the scene and asked for a detective consult. Shortly thereafter, EMT and fire responders showed up.”

  “And all hell broke loose,” Grimes finished, his tone matching the expression on his face.

  “Pretty much,” Reed nodded.

  With his fingers still laced, Grimes tapped his thumbs together a couple of times, considering what he’d just been told.

  “Why did they ask for a consult? Were there signs of foul play?”

  “That’s just it,” Reed said, leaning forward. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Nothing at all,” Reed said. “The call had come in about a heart attack in progress, yet Esther Rosen was tucked tight in her bed.”

  Grimes eyes widened, though he remained silent.

  “Her sheets weren’t disturbed,” Reed said. “There wasn’t even a phone in the room with her.”

  The scene was so sterile as Reed entered, it had taken him a moment to realize why the officers had wanted someone else to take a look. At a glance, it appeared Esther Rosen was sleeping comfortably, or at the very least had passed away without a word.

  The problem was, nobody dying from a cardiac infarction would simply lie there, especially if they had the wherewithal to call for help.

  “Staged?” Grimes asked.

  “Sure as hell looked like it,” Reed said.

  “Then why call 911?” Grimes asked.

  “I don’t know,” Reed said, raising his eyebrows just slightly. Dozens of ideas had come and gone throughout the night, running the gamut of possibilities. “Figured I’d see if the crime scene crew could pull anything useful before rushing to any conclusions.”

  Grimes ran a hand over his face, thinking. Despite the heat, he insisted on wearing his uniform with the long-sleeve shirt every day, a veneer of sweat already becoming visible on his forehead.

  “Christ,” he muttered.

  The assessment was exactly the one Reed had made hours before, though he remained silent.

  “And the medics?” Grimes asked.

  “Raised all kinds of hell,” Reed said. “Claimed that we weren’t trained to determine if someone was dead or not, that yet again, we overstepped our jurisdiction, same old stuff.”

  “Did we?” Grimes asked, raising his eyebrows just slightly.

  Reed thought back to the night before, playing the scene over in his mind. Prior to arriving, he could see how maybe the medics had a right to be angry, though after adding his conclusions to those of the responding officers, they should have backed off.

  “No,” Reed said. “Our guys were right. It was a hell of a thing to walk into, threw me when I first saw it as well.”

  Grimes grunted in response, though said nothing.

  Both of them knew more than anything it came down to a matter of money, the medics not being able to collect for their services unless they were actually rendered.

  Neither felt the need to voice it.

  Grimes shifted his attention out the window to see the morning sun already above the horizon, blazing bright orange light over the parking lot. It reflected off the windshields of the cars collected there, promising another hot day ahead.

  “Okay,” Grimes said. “How do we want to handle this?”

  “Meaning, who should I hand this off to, or what are my next steps?” Reed asked.

  For their first few months, Reed and Billie’s primary job had been more about containment than apprehension. They were on duty from the hours of 10:00 at night to 6:00 each morning, responding to whatever arose.

  At sunrise each day, they handed the night’s cases off to the daytime detectives to solve.

  In the last three months their role had begun to shift. They were still primarily assigned to the nighttime hours, though on occasion, Grimes would hand them a case, providing them with the autonomy they needed to work it to completion.

  The process for doing it was still a bit hazy, though the arrangement seemed to be working well for both sides. Grimes was able to provide some much needed relief to his detective teams, and Reed and Billie stayed on the shift they preferred, avoiding the occasional stares and general hubbub of the precinct during daytime hours.

  “You think there’s something to look into here?” Grimes asked.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Reed glanced down at Billie before responding.

  “What I saw last night didn’t just happen. I could believe Esther Rosen calling 911 about a possible heart attack, and I could believe it happening in her sleep, but I can’t believe that the two things happened from what I saw there last night.”

  Grimes remained silent as he considered things.

  “Okay, it’s yours. Same rules as usual, keep me apprised of whatever you find.”

  Chapter Five

  The failure of the previous night weighed heavy on The Good Son. It soured his mood and brought a frown to his face that refused to waver, no matter how hard he tried to force a smile.

  Everything about the situation had been perfect. Of all the people he’d considered, Esther Rosen appeared to be the ideal target. She was the right age, race and gender. She lived alone. She didn’t have a dog, and her home was worn enough that the locks on the back door could be jimmied using an old Blockbuster card.

  Opportunities like that didn’t come along very often, especially near The Bottoms.


  It was that reality that seemed to bother The Good Son more than anything. If he lived in Worthington, or Dublin, or even further south in Grove City, the failure from the night before wouldn’t be such a big deal. There would be ample targets for him to choose from, chalking her up as a learning experience.

  Tonight he could have another Esther Rosen lined up and ready to go.

  A third one tomorrow night if need be.

  The situation he was in wouldn’t allow it, though. Going into any one of those areas wouldn’t do, the drive too far, the variables too great to risk. Instead, he was confined to the greater Bottoms area, encompassing Franklinton and maybe just a little piece into Hilliard, a total geographic area no more than a few miles square.

  Leaning forward, The Good Son rested his arms on the back of his shopping cart. Using it for support, he shuffled through the expansive aisles of the Home Depot, the irony of his location not lost on him.

  Dressed in a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a t-shirt, he was just another nameless, faceless 20-something in the suburbs, picking up a few items for some chores around the house. With the exception of the expression on his face, he could pass for nearly every other person roaming about on a weekday morning.

  The Good Son gave up trying to smile, finding that it felt mechanical and odd stretched across his face.

  Last night his plan had officially been put into action. He still wasn’t sure he was ready for such a thing, but the ticking clock had started. From this point on he had to be aware of his actions, making sure to never draw attention to himself. Something as foolish as the way he appeared on the streets during the day could be his undoing later that night.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen. What he was doing was far too important, the impact too far reaching.

  The Good Son reached into his pocket, extracted a scrap of paper and stared down at the list of items he had jotted down two hours before.

  The debacle with Esther Rosen was good experience. It had taught him a great many things, none more important than the fact that suffocation would not work.

  Now it was time to try something new.