Smoke Screen (The Darcy Lynch Series Book 2)

by Elin Barnes

  Sorensen smiled. “That you were in the bathroom.”

  Darcy ignored him. “We need to get Mitchell to come in.” He rubbed his left temple. It felt sore. “We need to tell him we’ve found the girl so he knows he’s got no leverage left.”

  “The question is, does he really care about his mother enough to turn himself in?” Sorensen turned the car into the station’s parking lot.

  “I doubt it.” Darcy saw his partner close his eyes and nod in agreement.

  Chapter 107

  “Okay,” Ethan told himself, “I’m going to have to call back.”

  He was heading north on Highway 101, driving just a few miles per hour faster than the limit so as to not raise suspicion. He would reach San Jose in about thirty minutes. He needed to seriously think about what he was going to do next.

  Calling the detective again would make him appear even weaker. He was upset with himself for having called the second time. He hadn’t made a rookie mistake in a long time, and it seemed that in the past twenty-four hours he’d forgotten all his years of experience. What he needed to do was to cool his head.

  Traffic was light in this direction. The sun was gone. It would have been another gorgeous evening in Northern California if not for the fact that he was a hair away from being arrested and put away for life, if not killed. He needed to seriously consider whether freeing his mother was the most important thing he could do at the moment.

  Chapter 108

  The station was bursting with people. It was after six, but nobody was going home. Darcy grabbed two cups of coffee on the way in and met Sorensen in Virago’s office. Placing one on the captain’s desk, he gave her the play-by-play.

  “Will she make it?” she asked when he was done.

  “Gowan just called me. They didn’t take Aislin to O’Connor to be with Saffron,” Darcy updated them. “Even though the burns and lacerations don’t seem to be life threatening, they believe she’s been severely poisoned.”

  “She’ll need major therapy if she makes it,” Virago said.

  “And a change of lifestyle,” Sorensen added.

  “Whoa,” Darcy said.

  “Hey, I know she’s your girl’s sister and all, but she’s a prostitute. Nothing good comes from that.”

  “Okay, enough.” Virago put a hand up to stop the bickering. “How are we going to catch this guy?”

  “No way to trace the call,” Darcy said, still staring at Sorensen, who was ignoring him.

  “Do you think he’ll call back?”

  “If he does, what do we say?” Sorensen asked.

  “Maybe we need to give another news update.” Darcy met some arching eyebrows in response. “I’m serious. This guy thinks he has some leverage, right? He has the girl, she’s hidden, and we have his mother. He wants the mom in exchange for the girl. If we have the girl and the mom, what does he have?”

  “He may run. He’s already told you he doesn’t care a whole lot about anything, including his mother.” Before anybody could say anything, Sorensen added, “Asshole.”

  “He cared enough to try to negotiate and then make two phone calls. He may be saying he doesn’t care, but I think his actions tell a different story,” Virago said. “You okay with this?” she asked Sorensen.

  “I’ve got no better plan.”

  “Okay, go for it, but this time . . . answer the phone when he calls,” she said to Darcy.

  “Jesus.” Darcy stood. When he reached his desk, he called the news anchor.

  Chapter 109

  Ethan passed the “Welcome to Santa Clara County” sign. After a few miles, he took the Curtner exit and drove east until he saw the entrance for the Oak Hill Funeral Home and Memorial Park. He pulled into the parking lot and backed into the last spot. He locked the car and walked into the graveyard.

  There was something unique about cemeteries. They were always green, well kept, and in a sorrowful way they were pretty. He got off the main path and started walking on the grass between the gravestones toward the fountain. The moon was shining through the trees. He was listening to the local news through his earbuds. The weather, the traffic. Nothing interesting. BART was on strike again.

  “We have breaking news,” the anchor said, a bit of excitement in his voice.

  Ethan stopped walking, his neck suddenly moist with cold sweat. While he listened, he pulled his phone out of this pocket and tapped the app for Channel 6 News, switching to the coverage on TV.

  “The Santa Clara Sheriff’s Office has made an incredible rescue today. A woman, the only surviving victim of the Los Altos massacre, was found barely alive.”

  Ethan stopped walking. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He passed the first set of low walls and finally reached the fountain. Sitting by Saint Thomas, he watched as the good-looking anchor shattered his world with each word.

  “The police believe that she was kidnapped by the main suspect in the case, Ethan Mitchell, and subsequently tortured in his condo. She’s in critical condition, but there’s hope that she’ll be able to give a statement before the end of the day. The hospital she is being treated at is being kept confidential at this time.”

  When she finished the update and they moved on to traffic again, Ethan set the phone down next to him and looked up at the gravestones. He covered his face with both hands. The game was over. He needed to leave. He needed to escape. Ethan stood, pulled the earbuds out and shut the app in the middle of another BART update.

  He started walking toward his brother’s grave but stopped a few yards short, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to face him. He had failed.

  Ethan turned and walked back to his car, every footstep heavy on the pavement. There was not much he could do for his mother now.

  Before he got back in his car, he looked over his shoulder in the direction of his brother’s grave. He was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t going to run like a fucking dog with his tail between his legs. If he had to go down, he was going to take somebody down with him.

  Chapter 110

  Sorensen had left to fetch some dinner. Darcy clicked his mouse, browsing through the crime scene photos, hoping to find something that would indicate where Mitchell might be. So far he had nothing.

  “Lynch, can you come here a sec?” Captain Virago waved him in from her office.

  Darcy welcomed the distraction. He locked his computer, walked in and sat on the chair closest to the door.

  “What’s up?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Virago leaned back in her chair and pushed her reading glasses up onto her head.

  Darcy looked up. She was taking too long to speak. Something was up. Did IA finish their report yet? He rubbed his temple and looked at her.

  “I talked to SJPD,” she finally said.

  He stopped rubbing.

  “They approved the transfer. Should happen in the next two to four weeks.”

  Her eyes looked dull. He wondered if it was just fatigue.

  “Okay . . .”

  “I haven’t told the others yet.”

  Darcy scooted back. He felt removed, almost as if he were having a teleconference rather than a face-to-face meeting. Her stalling the conversation was driving him crazy.

  “SJPD red-lighted your transfer.”

  He took a long time to exhale, then combed his short hair back with one hand.

  “Given the recent shootings—”

  “I’m going to be cleared—you know that,” he cut her off.

  She nodded. “They want the investigations to be closed and found in your favor. Then they want to see what happens in the next few months.”

  “How will they know what happens if you’re not going to be here to give them a report?” he spat, before he stood and walked toward the door.

  “Lynch, sit down. I’m not done.”

  He leaned against the closed door.

  She went on: “I told them I don’t want anybody else.” She let her words settle in. “So th
ey agreed to hold the position open, but on stand-by, until it’s time to reevaluate your application.”

  “Don’t bother. I like it here.” He turned to leave but waited to open the door. “Is that it?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was coarse. She sounded more defeated than tired.

  Chapter 111

  It was almost ten o’clock, and Mitchell hadn’t called. Darcy had felt like leaving after his little chat with Virago, but on his way out of the bullpen, he saw the photos of Saffron, Jon, and Aislin. He stopped and looked at the boards. De la Rosa and the other victims stared back at him, pleading. He went back to his desk and continued working.

  Sorensen showed up a few minutes later with a couple pizzas, and they ate, mostly in silence. Then they spent the next few hours doing paperwork, updating the case boards and coming up with theories and courses of action, depending on what they imagined Mitchell might do.

  Darcy continued to check the phone constantly, as if he was worried that it might ring and he wouldn’t hear it. Sorensen also checked his with the same result.

  Now they both sat at their desks. Darcy was playing with a pen, twirling it between his fingers. Sorensen was gnawing on the end of his.

  “Go home, you two,” Virago said on her way to the exit. “If he hasn’t called by now, he may never.” Before they could protest, she added, “And if he does, you both have each other on speed dial, so nothing’s lost.”

  Neither moved.

  Virago stopped walking. “Detectives, this was not an ask. It’s an order. Go home. We have a lot of shit to do tomorrow, and I’m not even talking about closing the loop with Internal Affairs. So go home, get a good night’s sleep and come up with some brilliant idea on how to get this son of a bitch tomorrow.”

  Sorensen took the tip of the pen out of his mouth and puffed.

  Darcy got up and put his jacket on. “Fine,” he said. He felt tired and was not terribly upset about being ordered home.

  “Keep your phone on. Keep it charged,” Sorensen told him.

  “Yes, Dad,” Darcy said, and waited for him on his way out.

  “No stairs today?” Sorensen asked, pressing the elevator button.

  “I think I did enough stairs for a while,” Darcy said.

  “Oh right. I forgot,” Sorensen said, almost laughing.

  When they got to the garage, Darcy stopped, realizing he didn’t have a car. Man, this is getting really old, he thought.

  Sorensen must have remembered the same thing, because he said, “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Sure?”

  “Why not. Hospital or home?”

  Darcy thought about it for a minute. He checked his watch. “Home. I don’t think I can spend another night on the visitor’s chair.”

  They rode mostly in silence. Darcy was sure they were both thinking about the case— where they were, what they had. There was no way to know what Mitchell would do next.

  Right as Sorensen was pulling into Darcy’s driveway, he said, “I hope to God we find him.”

  “Me too. He’s bad news.”

  Darcy nodded good-bye and left the car. When he got to his front door, he was surprised that the porch light didn’t come on. Really? he thought. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he muttered.

  Chapter 112

  When Darcy opened his front door, the only thing he heard was rattling, as if a fox was trapped inside a cage and trying to escape. Then he heard Shelby whimper, more rattling, and a few yelps so loud that an ice-cold shiver ran through Darcy’s body.

  “Shelby?” he called after her.

  The dog responded with a few barks that ended in cries for help.

  Darcy pulled out his gun. He flipped the light switch on, but nothing happened. He strained his eye and took a step, then another, trying to listen for anything that wasn’t his own breathing or his dog’s yelps.

  Shelby cried for him again. He wished he could tell her he was coming for her, but he knew he had to remain quiet.

  Darcy finally reached the living room; the open kitchen was to his right. A quick glance confirmed all the knives were in their place. Good, he thought. He checked the other side of the room, where the fireplace was. Nothing. It looked undisturbed. Lola swam in her tank on the mantel, oblivious to Shelby’s suffering.

  Darcy still couldn’t see his dog, but he could hear her. He figured she was getting more distressed as he was getting closer, making her yelp with each move.

  With his back to the wall, he kept walking until he finally saw that his coffee table had been replaced by the most macabre thing he’d ever seen. Shelby was enclosed in a metal cage. The edges were thick, and metal hinges held the frame together. The sides were made of barbed and razor wire. An electrical current shocked the dog every time she moved and touched the metal. Darcy moved closer.

  When Shelby saw him, she wagged her tail, getting shocked again. She yelped. Darcy’s heart sunk. He showed her his palm and made a downward motion instructing her to lie down. The bottom of the cage wasn’t electrified. The dog obeyed, and for the first time since he’d walked in, she stopped crying.

  He continued walking by the wall until he could see the other side of the box. There was no cord plugged to the wall. Darcy couldn’t understand how the awful box worked. He took a look around the room, his Glock close to his chest. He tightened his grip. Metal mesh and barbwire covered the sides. He touched a corner with the sole of his shoe, pushed on it. The frame didn’t budge a hair. It was solid. Well made.

  “I’ll be right back,” he mouthed to Shelby. He needed to get his tools from the garage.

  He could see she didn’t understand, her eyes dark with sadness when she saw him move away from her. His heart broke in a thousand pieces, and a ball of anger burnt his chest when she started whimpering again.

  He knew he had to secure the premises before doing anything else, but he didn’t know how long Shelby would last. As he reached the hallway, Mitchell appeared, aiming a Beretta at him. Darcy raised his Glock.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Mitchell said, aiming between Darcy’s eyes.

  “What do you want?” Darcy asked.

  “Drop the Glock on the floor.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  Mitchell took a step closer and cupped the hand holding the gun. “And when you do, also remove your ankle weapon.”

  Darcy didn’t move.

  Mitchell fired. The bullet passed barely an inch away from Darcy’s left ear and lodged in the wall.

  Darcy fought the urge to shake his head to stop the ringing in his ear. He acquiesced and raised his arms over his head, then knelt down. He set the Glock on the floor and removed his concealed weapon, placing it next to the other one. Once he was upright, Mitchell walked toward him and pushed Darcy back into the living room.

  Shelby started barking, moving and yelping again.

  “What the hell do you want?” Darcy asked, wondering why Mitchell didn’t shoot him dead.

  As soon as Darcy was side by side with the torture box, Mitchell stopped walking.

  “You’re in too deep, but I can get your mother out of this mess,” Darcy said, trying to reason with Mitchell.

  He scoffed. “It’s amazing that after everything that’s happened, you still believe I’m that stupid.”

  Darcy looked past the Berretta, making eye contact with Ethan and keeping it.

  “You know the charges against my mother are bogus. I doubt very much the DA will move forward, but even if he does it’ll be dismissed before it goes to trial. I’m not worried.”

  “Why are you here then?” Darcy tried to sound less worried than he felt.

  “You really are dense.” Mitchell moved toward the kitchen island and leaned against it without losing his aim at Darcy’s head. “I wonder if your partner, the big guy, is smarter than you.” He shook his head, mocking him.

  Darcy needed to get an angle on this guy fast or things would end really badly—and maybe not just for him and Shelby.
r />   “So humor me. If it’s not to get your mother out, why are you here? Why hurt my dog?”

  “I actually like dogs. I felt kind of bad about doing this to her.” He lowered his gun, secure in the distance that separated them. “I built the cage for a person. It was my latest creation, but I never got a chance to use it, since you pushed me out of my condo before I could try it on the hooker.”

  Darcy felt his body tense up. He wanted to charge at him but knew he didn’t have a chance.

  “But why do it at all? You had us, you had escaped. I bet you were probably on your way to Mexico when you saw the news about the call girl.”

  “Very good, Detective.”

  Before Mitchell could continue, Darcy’s cell rang.

  He didn’t make a move to retrieve it. Mitchell didn’t give him instructions either way, so they both stared at each other without saying a word. After the fifth ring, it stopped.

  “You have a bad habit of not answering your phone,” Mitchell said.

  “Only when I’m busy with something important.”

  Mitchell nodded almost imperceptibly. Darcy was amazed at how used to the darkness his eye had gotten. He could see the man’s face clearly, his microexpressions, his nascent crow’s-feet. His eyes were cold. He’d seen those eyes before in Stepan Kozlov. Darcy lifted his hand to rub his temple, but before he was able to soothe his itching eye, Mitchell shook his head.

  “Keep your hands away from your body.”

  Darcy was sure Mitchell was going to kill him. What he didn’t know was if he would torture him first. As soon as he was done with whatever he’d come to do, he would end his life. There was no doubt.

  His phone started ringing again. Mitchel shook his head. There was a hint of annoyance in his expression.

  “So tell me what you want,” Darcy said over the noise of the phone.

  He watched the man’s face. The moment he blinked, Darcy made a quick lateral move and charged against him. Mitchell fired. The bang masked Shelby’s whimpers. The bullet shattered the window that led to the backyard and got lost somewhere in the night.