A Trace of Death (A Keri Locke Mystery--Book #1)

by Pierce, Blake

  There’d be no magic marker on the walls from her.

  I’m getting the hell out of here!

  *

  Ignoring the silent suffocating air of the silo for what seemed like an eternity, Ashley slowly removed one screw after another. She could picture herself prying open the ceiling door, then jumping up and grabbing the lip, muscling herself up and through, then going down the ladder and running away into the night where she couldn’t be found.

  The moment of truth was finally here.

  She got the board vertical, yanked it loose from the last remaining screws, raised it until it rested against the edge of the hatch, and pushed.

  Nothing happened.

  She pushed up with all her might; nothing. She pounded the plank against the hatch with all the power she could summon. It didn’t budge an inch. It was solidly latched shut from the outside.

  Ashley slumped to the ground, worn out and beaten. She curled up in a ball and closed her eyes, ready to meet whatever fate was in store for her. But then a memory snuck into her mind, of another time she had felt defeated.

  While surfing in Hawaii two years ago, a wave far bigger than any she’d encountered in Southern California had overwhelmed her. At least twenty feet high, it had slammed her into a coral bed fifteen feet down on the ocean floor. Her bodysuit had snagged on a sharp piece of coral. She couldn’t escape.

  She struggled but knew she was running out of breath. Then a second wave came, smashing her even deeper into the coral. She felt it cutting into her flesh. But this time, when the wave passed, she found that it had somehow freed her from the coral she’d been stuck on.

  With her last ounce of strength she’d pushed herself to the surface, her eyes aimed squarely on the dot of sunlight growing ever closer. Her first breath of air upon breaking the surface remained the most powerful moment of her life. It was better than any drug she’d taken, any guy she’d slept with. It was her true north.

  And if she’d found it once, Ashley knew she could find it again.

  She sat up.

  She fished around and found the flashlight, shining it down into the opening where the board had been. Below the wooden platform she was on, there was some kind of giant rusty funnel. The walls sloped down into a spout that was about two feet in diameter.

  Could her body fit through it? It would be close. She might slide through. She might get wedged in and get stuck. It was hard to tell.

  It looked like something might be jammed in part of the spout, four or five feet into it. What was it? Spider webs? Old rotted clumps of grain? It wasn’t a solid blockage and certainly wasn’t part of the structure itself. It looked fragile, as if the weight of her body could crush it. Still, she couldn’t be sure and she couldn’t see past it.

  She dropped the empty soup can down.

  It rattled against the spout as it bumped up against the blockage, then passed through and fell to the ground. It took a while to hit the bottom. The drop was a long one.

  Sweat ran down Ashley’s face.

  If she pulled another board out, there would be enough room for her to drop down into the funnel. It was possible—maybe—that she’d fit through the spout without getting wedged in, then fall to the ground below without breaking her back and killing herself, and then find that there was a door or opening of some sort that she could escape through.

  It was equally possible that she’d get wedged into the spout, inextricably stuck and unable to move. Her own weight might squeeze her in tight and constrict her chest. She might suffocate or worse, forever be on the verge of suffocating while never actually getting there.

  She wouldn’t be able to kill herself. She’d die a horrible, immobile death.

  She screamed at the top of her lungs and beat the side of the silo with the board. The frustration was too much.

  “Help me! Somebody help me! I didn’t do anything!”

  She stuck the board down into the spout and was just able to reach the blockage. As she moved it around and poked at it, she realized, with horror, what it was.

  Bones.

  Bones covered with years of dust and cobwebs and stale air. Someone had already tried her idea of dropping down and had gotten wedged in.

  Ashley scurried away from the sight until the wall stopped her. She didn’t want to die like that. It was too horrible.

  Tears came to her eyes. There was no way out—not up, not down. She was stuck. The fear took over again.

  “Mommy!” she screamed. “Help me!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tuesday

  1 AM

  Keri’s eyes were heavy as she drove from downtown back to Venice. At 1 AM on a Tuesday morning, the typically brutal Los Angeles traffic was a breeze, but she was in no mood to appreciate it. She realized she was drifting across the lane on Lincoln Boulevard and yanked herself back. She jacked up the radio on some awful-sounding EDM song and lowered all her windows, letting the hot nighttime air whip at her face and hair.

  Someone was lying to her. The stories of boy toy rocker Walker Lee and security guard Artie North were completely at odds. But without evidence to go on, she had to depend on her instincts.

  That’s why she was pulling up next to Lee’s apartment. She considered calling Ray but decided he could use the sleep. Besides, if things went south, this would be better as a solo project.

  She banged on his door and he answered within seconds. Clearly he hadn’t been sleeping. A suitcase sat open on the couch behind him. It was stuffed to the brim.

  Keri looked at it, then at him, and said, “I talked to the security guard, Artie North. He denied having any footage of Ashley or using anything like that to try to extort her into sex.”

  Walker rolled his eyes.

  “The little shit’s lying.”

  “Even if that’s true, the more I mull it over, the more I think you pointed me to him as a decoy. There’s something going on you haven’t told me about. I told you before, be straight with me and you won’t have anything to worry about. But lie to me…” She let the sentence trail off.

  Walker Lee stood in the doorway, clearly unsure how to proceed. Keri tried to help him out. She nodded at the suitcase.

  “Are you leaving town?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Any minute, actually.”

  She tried to bite her tongue but couldn’t. “That’s a pretty pathetic thing to do, don’t you think? With Ashley needing everyone in her corner right now?”

  His eyes got stony.

  “You know what? Enough’s enough. I’m sorry if something’s happened to Ashley but I’m sick of you being here.”

  Keri was surprised by the defiance in his tone. He’d played it so cool up to now that she’d been taken in. But he was definitely hiding something. She just wasn’t sure if it had something to do with Ashley’s disappearance.

  “Mind if I come in?” she asked after she brushed past him and was already well into the apartment.

  Despite her rising blood pressure, she walked quickly but calmly back to his studio. He tried to keep up, futilely saying, “I do mind.”

  Ashley moved to the microphone stand in the middle of the room, slowly removed the mic, and stared at it introspectively, as if she’d never seen one before. Then she suddenly swung it by the cord, in a circle high above her head, allowing the frustration of the day to fuel her. Walker Lee stared for a moment, dumbfounded. Then he found his wits again and opened his mouth.

  Hey, don’t—” he started. But before he could finish the sentence, Keri changed the trajectory of the microphone and swung it at him. It struck him flush on the forehead above the left eye.

  He slumped to the floor, dazed. After a moment, he reached up to the spot and then looked at his hand. It was covered in blood, which was flowing profusely down his cheek onto his bare chest.

  It took a second for what had happened to register. While Keri waited for him to process it, she walked over to the counter and grabbed a rag she
found lying there. She tossed it in his general direction.

  “What did you do to my face?” he whined pathetically.

  Keri knew she’d probably gone too far but she was committed at this point. She felt wide awake now.

  “I’m sick of you screwing around with me. We’re done with that. Get it?”

  The man put the rag to the wound to stanch the bleeding and said, “I’m going to sue you.”

  “The only thing you’re going to do is tell me what I need to know, Walker. Otherwise, the other side of your head’s going to get a matching welt. Or maybe I’ll go for your guitar-playing hand next. You lured me into this soundproof studio and came at me. I defended myself forcefully. That’s the story everyone will believe unless you start talking right now.”

  Whatever he’d been hiding this whole time, Keri could tell he was about to finally give it up.

  “Look, the only other thing I can think of is, there’s this guy who hangs out near the Boardwalk that me and Ashley buy drugs from now and then; nothing serious, just pot and ecstasy. He goes by the name Auggie.”

  Keri had never heard of him before. Either he was small-time or it was an alias.

  “Okay, go on.”

  “Well, the last time we did business with him—when was it? Wednesday night, yeah, that’s it—he was looking at Ashley really weird the whole time, like a wolf looking at a bunny or something. I didn’t say anything but I can tell you I didn’t like it. He gave us the stuff, I gave him the money, but then he wanted more. He said the price had gone up. He told me to come back with the rest of the money within the next few days. Then he made a cryptic remark, which I took to be a vague threat against Ashley if I didn’t return to pay him more. I never went back. Screw him, it wasn’t fair. He jacked up the price without telling me. I don’t play those kinds of games. Also, I heard his guys use a van for smashing and grabbing TVs and computers and stuff. Don’t know the color though.”

  Keri tried to imagine it. If Walker was telling the truth, then Ashley knew Auggie and wouldn’t hesitate to move closer to a van he was in.

  “You should have told me this before.”

  “What I should have done before was never get Ashley involved in all this stupid stuff to begin with,” he admitted. “I should have kept her safe. I don’t know how all this got so screwed up.”

  Keri looked at him closely. The left side of his face was covered in blood-matted blond hair. But she sensed something approaching sincerity. Maybe there was hope for him yet. But that wasn’t her concern.

  “Do you know where Auggie lives?”

  “No. But he hangs out in a dive club called the Blue Mist Lounge, at Windward and Pacific, right next to Townhouse. That’s where everybody meets up with him.”

  That was only half a mile from Ashley’s house. Keri pulled five twenties from her purse, tossed them on the floor, and said, “Go get that head stitched up. There’s an urgent care clinic ten blocks east of here.” She paused and added, “And don’t trip into any more counters.”

  He nodded, understanding. And then he surprised her.

  “Be careful with Auggie, Detective. He’s a seriously bad guy.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she walked out, not saying out loud what was going through her mind.

  I’m feeling seriously bad myself right about now.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tuesday

  Wee Hours

  Keri called Ray on her way over. She didn’t want to but the Blue Mist Lounge was the kind of place that required backup.

  “Sleeping?” she asked.

  “I was,” he snapped, sounding not too happy.

  A pause.

  “You’re not,” he realized. “And you need me.”

  “Bingo,” she said.

  He sighed audibly.

  “And if you need me, it must be bad.”

  “Right again,” she said.

  “I hate you, Locke.”

  “I love you, Big.”

  He sighed audibly. There came a creaking noise, and she knew he was sitting up in bed.

  “You’re lucky I’m alone this time,” he said. “What’s the address?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Keri pulled up in front of the Blue Mist and waited, knowing Ray would be there any minute. While she waited, she glanced over Auggie’s rap sheet. He was a small-time crook and dealer but had a big-time temper. He’d spent sixteen of his thirty-four years incarcerated, mostly for assaults. There was no record of abductions but he had once kept a girlfriend locked in a bedroom closet for twelve hours because he thought she’d stolen some meth from him.

  Ray showed up and she got out of the car and stood beside him.

  He looked at the club.

  “The Blue Mist, huh?” he asked. “Knew I could count on you to invite me to a classy date.”

  They approached the door silently, Ray stiffening, clearly, she knew, preparing for trouble.

  Waiting for them at the front door of the club was a pit bull of a guard. But they flashed their badges and after he took one look at Ray, he stepped aside.

  They pushed their way past him and up the stairs to the entrance. Loud hip-hop music blasted from the speakers. Keri noted that she was the only white person in the place and felt a little guilty at being relieved that Ray was by her side.

  They moved quickly to the back VIP room, which had its own security guard. Ray nodded at him and showed his badge and he stepped aside as they entered.

  The door closed behind them, blocking out the music from the main room. In here, a woman on a small stage in the corner was singing Billie Holiday. It was much busier than Keri expected at this hour early in the week.

  They looked around. Ray nodded to a darkened corner of the room and muttered, “Mr. Dreadlocks.”

  Auggie sat in a large booth away from the crowd. Two women sat on either side of him. Keri recognized them both as working girls. They were snuggled in close, competing for his attention. A bottle of whiskey sat in the middle of the table, half empty, with glasses all around. The women laughed loudly at everything Auggie said and none of them noticed Ray and Keri walking over until they were at the table.

  Ray slid in next to one of the women, who was wearing a low-cut red top. Keri remained standing.

  “Hey, folks,” he said pleasantly.

  At first the woman looked taken aback, but once she got a good look at him, she smiled. Keri ignored the uncomfortable feeling of being slightly jealous of a prostitute.

  Auggie didn’t speak but his whole body had tensed up, reminding Keri of a coiled rattlesnake.

  Suddenly the woman on the other side of him, who wore a too-tight tube top, slammed her hand on the table and said, “You’re the Sandman!”

  The woman next to Ray didn’t understand.

  “The Sandman! The boxer!”

  Tube Top swung around to Ray’s side and slid in until her thigh was fully pressed against his, putting him in a hooker sandwich.

  “I can’t believe the Sandman’s in here!” she nearly shouted with joy.

  Keri had been watching Auggie closely. In the space of about ten seconds, his expression had silently gone from suspicious to envious to fearful. And then she saw something flash across his face that she couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t until he had jumped up onto the table and leapt down in the direction of the exit that she realized what it was: desperation.

  Auggie was quick but Keri had been anticipating something from him and moved over to shoulder check him when his feet landed on the ground. He saw what she was doing and adjusted in mid-air so that they would collide directly, his nearly two hundred pound frame slamming into her. She was giving up nearly seventy pounds to him and knew that even though she was well positioned, she was going to take the brunt of the impact.

  She was right.

  His body pounded into hers with a force that knocked her off her feet and sent her rolling back across the floor. The back of her head slammed hard on the wooden floor but she used the backwar
d momentum to roll in a backward somersault and pop right back up. She was upright but colors exploded behind her eyes as her skull screamed.

  She realized half a second too late that she was directly in Auggie’s exit path and that he planned to go through instead of around her. She bent at the knees to avoid becoming a tackling dummy but it didn’t help much. He smashed into her and as they both fell, his knee landed in her gut, knocking the wind out of her. She felt the bile rise in her throat as she gasped for breath. Auggie scrambled to his feet and darted out the door.

  From her prone position on the floor, Keri saw Ray desperately disentangling himself from the hookers and the booth. He ran to her but she used what little strength she had to wave for him to go after Auggie. He nodded and barreled through the door after his prey.

  Keri lay there for a few seconds, gulping down air. As she rolled over and started to get up, she felt arms on her shoulder, helping pull her to her feet. It was Red Top and Tube Top. She nodded her thanks, still unable to speak, and stumbled out the door after Ray and Auggie.

  “Which way?” she mumbled to the security guard. He pointed at the back entrance. She ran over to it and shoved open the door, which led to a rickety metal stairway in the club’s back alley. She heard voices.

  In the distance, she saw that Ray had Auggie trapped against a fence. The suspect tried to climb it but lost his grip and slipped down to the ground. Ray had been chasing him and was only ten feet away when Auggie whirled around with a gun in his hand. He fired.

  Ray kept coming.

  Auggie fired again right as Ray leapt onto him. They collapsed in a heap and Keri could no longer tell what was going on. She scurried down the steps, made the six-foot leap from the last step to the street below, and ran in the direction of the men. She was halfway there when she realized what was happening.