Cut and Run

by Lori Ryan

  Cal nodded his agreement and turned toward the street. “You take this side and I’ll take that side?” Knocking on doors. Again.

  They didn’t make it down the steps before the neighbor on the right side poked her head out of the door. “He’s not here.”

  No shit. “Do you know where we can find Alan Sykes?” Jarrod asked as he and Cal did the typical display of identification.

  The woman barely glanced at the ID before answering. “I think he went to the cabin,” she said, stepping down the stairs to stand in her front yard with the two detectives, as if they should know what cabin she was referring to.

  “Do you know where the cabin is?” Jarrod asked, even though he doubted she’d hand them an address. Nothing would be that simple.

  “Nope. Some friend of his has a place. He was always bragging about it as if it was his own place. He went up there to fish.” She made a face like she couldn’t stand the thought of fishing. Jarrod couldn’t stand it either, but he would bet it was for different reasons. To him, the idea of sitting still waiting for a fish to bite at bait sounded like torture. He needed to be doing something. Working on something, not sitting around.

  It wasn’t any surprise he sucked at meditation, too. The department shrink had tried to get him to do that once when he’d been forced to see her after shooting a suspect. The shooting had been ruled good, but it was department policy to see the doc for six sessions after a shooting.

  Six of the longest forty-five minutes of his life. He understood why they called it a forty-five-minute hour. It seemed like an hour when you were sitting in the room.

  “Any idea what town it was in?” Cal asked and Jarrod knew what he was thinking. It could be anywhere. People in Connecticut often had vacation places right in the state, or it could be up in New York, Massachusetts…the possibilities were many.

  She seemed to think for a bit. “Upstate New York, maybe?” There were a lot of maybes in this woman’s answers.

  “Do you know when he left?”

  “Week, week-and-a-half, maybe. Haven’t seen him since then.” The features of her face pinched together. “That’s longer than he’s usually gone. He usually only goes for a couple of days here or there.”

  “Have you seen anyone around? Any other visitors come looking for him?”

  She shook her head, no, and they wrapped up the interview asking her to call if she thought of anything else or if Sykes came back.

  “We need to get a BOLO out on his car,” Cal said as they walked back to their own vehicle. Jarrod nodded. He’d been thinking the same thing. A be-on-the-lookout for the car would hopefully get them results since they had no idea where to begin searching for the cabin or what friend it might belong to.

  “What if he wasn’t really fired?” Cal asked.

  Jarrod turned to him in the passenger street. “I don’t get it. What are you thinking?”

  “What if Simms just wanted deniability, so they set it up so his firing is well-documented, then send him out to the clinic for the illegal testing.”

  Jarrod shook his head. “Makes no sense. If they were going to do that, why have him show his Simms badge?”

  Cal grunted.

  “Let’s focus on finding Sykes for now, and see where that leads us.”

  Jarrod saw the car almost immediately. Carrie was horrible at tailing someone without being seen. It was hard not to grin as he let her follow him home, but in the back of his mind a small voice asked him what the hell he was doing.

  He wasn’t worried about Carrie knowing where he lived. He was worried about why he was playing with fire when he needed to be one hundred percent focused on his case. He needed to be staying far away from Carrie.

  Instead, he pulled in his driveway, got out of his car, then stood and raised a hand to her, directing her to park next to him in the drive.

  The smile she gave him when she got out of the car went right to his groin. “So, I guess I suck at being a spy?”

  “Don’t quit your day job.” He led her inside, tossing his keys and wallet on a side table, before turning to her. That was a mistake. His entranceway was small, putting her entirely too close for his nonexistent control.

  He stepped back, ignoring the urge to place his hands on her hips to pull her flush to him. “Why did you follow me home?” He could hear the change in his voice. It had dropped an octave, and he saw in her eyes, she could hear it, too. He was far too close to this. Far too wrapped up in her to be thinking straight on this case and that wasn’t something he was okay with. He’d never come this close to compromising everything he believed in. Everything his career in law enforcement stood for. What it meant to him.

  He walked into the kitchen and purposefully stuck himself on one side of the kitchen island, willing Carrie to stay on the other side. He needed physical barriers between them.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and her eyes clouded. “I heard about Max. What’s going on, Jarrod?”

  He took a deep breath. He’d have to find a way to talk to her about the case without really talking to her about the case. He couldn’t share anything they were looking into or anything they’d found. “I think whoever is behind this is tying up any loose ends.”

  She flinched. “Max was a loose end.” Her nod was resigned, as if she was trying to process this. He knew she wasn’t the kind of person who could turn off her emotions and discuss something like a person’s death without it cutting deep. She was putting on a good show. It was a show that might fool a lot of people, but it wasn’t fooling him.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered. He meant it. He was sorry she was going through this. Sorry someone was using the city’s most vulnerable population in such a heinous way. Sorry they’d now decided they were finished with their test subjects.

  She blew out a breath and looked at him. “The staff told me about that man Sykes and his connection to Simms Pharmaceutical.” Her chin came up a hair. “It’s not Simms. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I know Jonathan Simms and Warrick Staunton and it’s not them. They don’t have it in them to do this.”

  Jarrod felt the kind of creepy crawly sensation at the back of his neck that told him he wasn’t going to like what was coming. “You say that like you know them better than your other donors.” He kept his tone easy. “Why is that?”

  “I do.” There was an earnestness to her plea. “I’ve known them since Warrick and I were young. Our families had houses on the Cape together. So did Victoria Tyvek. It’s where Victoria and Warrick met. I used to go to barbecues at their house and bike down to the beach with them. His uncle would come visit and spend a lot of weekends there. Neither of them has this in them to be this heartless.”

  Jarrod cursed under his breath and took another step back. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

  “You didn’t ask, and I never thought in a million years you’d focus your investigation on them.”

  He just looked at her, realizing again what an idiot he’d been for letting his feelings get in the way of things here. Because if the evidence kept pointing at Simms Pharmaceutical and she was as close to Jonathan and Warrick as she’d just described, he had no choice but to consider her more than a witness. With her connection to the clinic and ties to the two men, she’d just become a solid suspect in the case.

  She studied him then tilted her head. “Oh, you can’t be serious?” She seemed to have read his mind, but what could he say?

  “I have to do my job, Carrie. And I can’t do that if I don’t consider what you just told me as we look at the evidence.”

  “You’re wasting your time if you think I had anything to do with this,” she spat out, and he could see the anger building in her eyes. “You’re wasting your time on Warrick and Jonathan. They’re good people and they wouldn’t do this.”

  “Then tell me who you think is behind it. Tell me who you think I should be looking at.”

  She opened her mouth, but shut it again, just as quickly.

  H
e waited a beat, but she didn’t offer any ideas. “That’s the thing, Carrie. You can’t see how any of the people you know could do something like this. And that’s a good thing.” His mouth tugged up in a half smile. “You see people as basically good. You see what you want the world to be. I can’t do that. I have to assume anyone could do this, and then see where the evidence points. I can’t afford to go into this thinking someone doesn’t have this in them.”

  Her face blanked and he found himself biting back a curse yet again. He’d said the wrong thing.

  “Even me,” she said quietly, and it was too late for him to deny it. To take it back.

  Not that he could. What he’d told her was the truth. It was his job to investigate everyone. They’d run financials on her and Reggie and not seen anything out of the ordinary for either of them. She had a lot of money, of course, given who her family was. But the money coming into her account had been accounted for as routine payments from family accounts. That didn’t mean they weren’t involved.

  He didn’t answer her. There wasn’t anything for him to say.

  She nodded and turned to walk out.

  “Carrie, wait.” He didn’t know why he was telling her to wait. What more could he say?

  “For what?” She tried to go for the cold façade he knew she’d perfected. The one he imagined she’d been taught as a young girl. The one that showed the world the presentation Carissa Hastings was supposed to offer. He saw through it for what it was. A protective measure. She was hurt.

  “That’s what I thought.” She made the statement as she turned and left, and he did nothing to stop her.

  Chapter 8

  Morning couldn’t have come any sooner for Jarrod’s liking. It’s not like he was used to getting a lot of sleep when he was on a case involving multiple homicides, but he hadn’t slept at all the night before. Doubts about his objectivity and thoughts about a certain blonde had kept him up all night.

  Sadly, this time, he wasn’t thinking about Carrie’s legs wrapped around his waist or what it would feel like to be with her. Instead he was worrying about her involvement in this case. He’d been asking himself if she could be involved since she’d walked out the door the evening before. And he was no closer to answers this morning than he had been all night.

  One thing he did know, though, is if she was involved, she was in danger.

  He leaned against the wall in the small meeting room as detectives filed in, coffee and note pads in hand. His chief of detectives entered and went to the front of the room. Jarrod knew from experience it would still be another minute or two before Calhoun started the morning meeting. He stepped up to one of the other detectives, lifting a chin in greeting.

  “Ronan, you still have contacts with the state’s organized crime taskforce?” Ronan Cafferty had worked alongside the taskforce a few years back when they’d come close to taking out the head of the Genesio crime family. They’d ended up taking down two of his sons, but Genesio slipped away again.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  Before Jarrod could answer, Ronan’s partner, Zach Reynolds, joined them, handing Ronan a cup of coffee and grunting a greeting at both men.

  “This about that flat-head you caught?” Zach asked, drawing a wince from Jarrod. He was sure everyone in the department knew about Max’s murder and the manner of death. It wasn’t often they had someone killed in such a violent way.

  Jarrod nodded. “It’s possible it’s linked to another death, and that death might be connected to some gambling debts. Thought the violent way the guy was killed might be a signature. Seemed like something Genesio might do to send a message.”

  Ronan nodded. “I’ll make some calls.”

  Calhoun whistled for the attention of the men. “Harmon, tell us where you and Rylan need support today.”

  “We could use someone looking at previous cases with beatings to the head. The ME said she thinks the perp used a metal pipe or something like it. Any ties to a past case might help us narrow things down.” Jarrod knew that request wouldn’t make him popular with the other detectives, but he had to get some people doing some leg work here. He and Cal were stretched thin and there was just too much to look at with this case.

  “Jepsen, you’re on that,” Calhoun said, then looked back to Jarrod, but not before Jarrod was treated to a few curses under Jepson’s breath. “Anything else?”

  “Trying to track gambling debt for Mark Coleman. Any help with that would be appreciated.”

  Calhoun nodded and assigned that to one of the detectives who floated between the different divisions of the Investigative Bureau.

  “Anyone have anything else for the good of the order?” Calhoun closed the meeting in his usual way.

  “Jepsen’s mom called to remind us he’s potty training. Wants us to remind him to tinkle in the john every hour,” called out Detective Jepsen’s partner, Rich Mullen. Mullen didn’t like Jepsen any better than the rest of the force. He’d take a bullet any day of the week for his partner, but he’d also razz the hell out of him at every turn.

  “Piss off, Mullen.” Jepsen was the first out the door.

  Jarrod’s laughter was interrupted by a text from the medical examiner. He looked at Cal. “ME’s ready for us.”

  Ten minutes later, they stepped into the autopsy suite at the ME’s office and went through the customary menthol under the nose before slipping surgical masks on their faces. He would still breathe through his teeth. It was a trick he’d learned when he first came onto the force, and he was forever thankful for it.

  Jarrod was happy to see Dr. Kane had already begun and had covered the head. He knew that meant she’d examined it, and he let out a breath.

  He was man enough to admit, he didn’t have the stomach for this shit. Some of his issue had to do with the blood and viscera on the table. The other had to do with the idea that he would someday lie on that table, exposed and cut open. And by exposed, he meant literally. The naked body on the table in front of him was an uncomfortable reminder that someday all his shit would be hanging out for the medical examiner to see.

  “Gentlemen,” Dr. Kane said, without looking up. It was the typical greeting they were used to from her. A young red-headed assistant stood nearby, and she smiled nervously at Jarrod and Cal. She must be new. Jarrod couldn’t remember seeing her before. “I’ve finished most of the exam.” She stood at a table beside the body and looked through a microscope at what Jarrod assumed was a slice or sample of Maxwell O’Brian, as they now knew Max’s full name to be.

  She’d removed the organs from the body, which, oddly, in many ways made it easier to look at.

  “Got anything for us, yet?” Cal asked.

  “Yes. I have a few things here, and I’ve got some test results for you on your other vics.”

  Both men looked at one another. They’d been waiting a long time for results on the homeless men who’d already died in the case. Any lead would be a welcome one.

  “I found a hair on Mr. O’Brian’s head that didn’t match his,” she said, pausing briefly in her work to glance at them.

  Jarrod’s stomach turned. He didn’t want to know how she’d found that in the mess that had been the victim’s head before the pipe did its damage.

  “DNA?” Cal asked hopefully. Cal wasn’t nearly as affected by the autopsy process as Jarrod was, a fact that got under Jarrod’s skin from time to time.

  “No. No skin tag present. I’ll be able to match to sample, though, if you find anyone of interest. And I can tell you the owner of said hair is neither an infant or child, nor are they elderly. I’ll have gender and race for you shortly.”

  “We can get gender and race from a hair with no skin follicle?” Jarrod asked.

  “You can’t but I can,” Dr. Kane quipped. “It used to take months to get that back from the state lab because of their backlog, but I have a new toy.”

  Jarrod laughed. “Santa come early this year?”

  “In the form of a grant from a federal p
rogram. I can now tell you gender and race in eighty-five seconds.” She glanced down at her hands. “Which I will do, as soon as I finish up here.”

  Cal nodded. “Can you get anything else from it?”

  “Possibly. I’ll see if there are any trace chemicals or evidence of environmental exposure that might give you a clue as to how your attacker lived, where he worked, that kind of thing.” She handed the slide over to the assistant who packaged it away and made a notation that Jarrod knew would relate to chain-of-evidence.

  Dr. Kane removed her gloves, turning them inside out and tossing them into a hazardous waste bin. “I’ll let you know if I find anything else once I finish the examination, but at first look, he had some of the same thinning of the heart wall I’ve seen in looking back at the tissue samples from your other victims.”

  “What does that mean?” Jarrod asked. The case had been particularly tricky because no one had realized homeless men were dying from anything other than natural causes at first. It wasn’t until one of Jarrod’s friends had gotten in touch with him about another friend’s death that they began to look into the rise in heart attacks in homeless men in New Haven and put two-and-two together to lead them to the clinic.

  Although some of the men who died had had cursory autopsies performed, the ones who died in the hospital under a doctor’s care hadn’t had an autopsy. They had tissue and blood samples in storage for some of the men but not others. All-in-all, it made for a tricky investigation.

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m guessing we’ll find it’s linked to your mystery drug and it might be related to cause of death. Thinning of the heart wall would certainly contribute to heart failure.” Jarrod recognized the shift when Dr. Kane went into teaching mode. “Essentially, the heart is a muscle. If the wall of that muscle thins, it becomes weak. A weak muscle can’t pump as efficiently; it has a harder time circulating blood. Eventually, that muscle can shut down altogether.”

  “You said you had test results back from the other victims?” They’d waited a long time for the results to these tests. Jarrod sure as hell couldn’t blame Dr. Kane for that. The drug they found in the victims’ bodies simply didn’t exist on the current market. Which meant, it was either completely unknown, or it was a drug on file with the FDA from a current or past drug test. That was their hope, anyway.