by Trisha Wolfe
But it’s not the cleansing breeze I smell as I approach the crime scene. The hazy fog clings to my skin, stinking of rot and death. Always a fucking Dumpster. Just once, I wish a perp could be more imaginative with their dumpsites.
“Sir, you can’t—” The uniform cuts his reprimand short. “Oh. Sorry, Detective Quinn.” He looks uncomfortable as he rubs the back of his neck. “We were given orders not to let you—”
“It’s all right.” I wave it off. “I’m not crossing any tape.” I point to the strip of yellow crime scene tape a few feet ahead of us.
He seems relieved as he nods. “Better get back at it. You wouldn’t believe…” He trails off, realizing he’s about to let some vital piece of information slip. He leaves before he can blunder another word.
I sigh out a painful breath from my tight lungs. The fact that Wexler hasn’t lifted my suspension fucking grates. Granted, it hasn’t been a full twenty-four hours yet, but I had this imagined scenario in my head that he’d come to his senses by now. It’s what’s kept my ego from being completely destroyed.
And seeing how Avery is invested in the case, not replying to my messages, my ego is taking a beating.
Just how needed am I?
I get the answer to that question when my phone beeps with a message. I release a tense breath. Finally.
Avery: Sorry—been caught up. I’m okay. Everything’s fine. A. King? I think I talked to them once on the forum. I thought he was another scientist. Who is he? Do you think he’s one of them? Is that how they found me?
I can feel her panic coming through the message.
Me: You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll look into it—just stay with your officer detail.
I gaze across the taped-off crime scene. The press is stalking the scene, too, their vans stationed just feet away, reporters craning their necks to get a glimpse of the victim.
I spot Carson talking with another detective, and he looks…good. Unrattled. In control. “Nice. Real nice.” The rookie is suddenly the top dog. I’m needed here about as much as a traffic cop.
When Carson notices me pacing the scene, he heads my way. “You here to get a whiff before the Feds push us out?” At my puzzled expression, he adds, “Two more bodies—” he looks around, dropping his voice “—two more were discovered, but the Feds scooped them. They’ve already got their team and techs at the scenes, and the precinct is crawling with black suits.”
This hits me like a punch to my gut. Three bodies. In one day. Fucking hell. I weave my head, trying to locate Avery. “Same MO?” I ask. If the recent killings are tied to our case, then I can only imagine the survivor’s guilt Avery is suffering right now. She escaped; those other women didn’t.
I go to send her a text, but Carson says, “Hard to say. The vic’s fucking skin was flayed off.” I lower my phone and look up at him. “Either it’s one sadistic perp,” he says, “or someone wants us to think so.”
Fuck. I scrub a hand down my face. “There’s no way this is one offender. Depending on time of death, it would take at least two to dispose of the vics across the city.” I pocket my phone and brace my hands against the back of my neck.
I need more information. TOD for all vics. Method of murder. But more than anything, I need Avery. In more ways than one.
Carson raises his eyebrows. “Gives credence to the crime ring theory.”
As much as I hate to admit it, it sure as shit sounds like an organized operation. Avery was taken to design a drug for some highly organized criminals, and now it seems they’re doing away with unwanted baggage.
“Might be why it’s the Organized Crime Division that stepped in,” Carson continues.
I drop my hands. “What?”
He looks around. “The Feds? The local Organized Crime—”
“I know that—I meant, why would they get involved?”
Carson shrugs. “They advanced the case to a serial killer, but maybe they’re not buying this is the work of one killer. They could be thinking it’s a group—an organized group—on a killing spree.”
That’s not bad logic. “What does Avery say?”
His face darkens, matching the sudden overcast sky. “She was pretty shaken up. The vic was dressed in a lab coat. I think it caught her off-guard.”
“Where is she?”
“She went back to the crime lab to get a jump on processing trace. I’m waiting for the body pick-up crew now.”
My stomach twists as I realize Avery didn’t want to be around for the van to arrive. I don’t fucking blame her. “Any word on the other scenes?”
Carson blows out a breath. “From what I heard, they’re just as grisly as this one. Soon as the bus gets here, I’m going to push my way onto the next one. Try to get as much info as I can.”
I nod. “Do me a favor,” I say, slipping him a folded piece of paper. “Get this to the techs and see if they can run a search on this handle.”
Before I came here, I stopped by my apartment and used Avery’s laptop to track down the forum post from A_King—the screen name the kid actually came through on. There was only one short thread, but it was suspicious enough to raise my hackles. My own search didn’t pull anything up; this person is well hidden in cyberworld. At least, for what my skills can detect. Finding him could mean finding the perps responsible for Avery’s abduction, or at the very least, a new lead.
A King—like he’s the damn king of the darknet. Pretty fucking vain handle. It’s too vague to search without the proper, sophisticated tech.
“Is this something that’s going to have the captain chewing my ass out?”
I narrow my gaze on Carson. “Do you care?”
He sighs. “No. Not if it means we get the bastards and Avery’s safe.”
My throat constricts. I’m not the only one who wants to keep her protected. I know this and yet, there’s a selfish part of me that wants to be her sole protector. Her fucking hero.
“She’ll need some help contacting next of kin.” I look toward the scene. “It’s not easy when there’s one vic, and now she has five bodies and five reports to give.”
Carson nods. “I can do that. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a link among the vics. There has to be a connection.”
I have a sinking feeling that these vics were chosen precisely due to their lack of connection with each other. The perp we’re hunting may not be a serial killer in his own right, but his methods mimic that of one. And we can use that.
“All right. Looks like I’m out,” Carson says as the transport van pulls up to the scene. “Time to see the clusterfuck the precinct has become.”
“Hey—” It’s right on the tip of my tongue, the words to tell him he’s doing a good job. As he faces me, waiting, I drive a hand through my hair. “Keep me posted, and keep up the good work.”
A slanted smile crosses his face. “Aw. Thanks, boss.”
My phone beeps, breaking the awkward moment, and I’m fucking thankful. “Yeah. Just don’t let the Feds get in the way.”
He solutes me and heads off as I check my phone.
Sadie: You need to get over to Lark and Gannet. Go alone.
Me: Rather cryptic. On my way.
Elated. That’s the only way to describe this adrenaline-charged sensation. I’m filled with purpose from one damn text. I’m halfway to my car when I realize I’m abandoning Avery for the job.
No. I’m doing the job—despite what it will cost me—for her. And I’m mentally arguing my point, like I need to convince my brain this is the truth. The actual truth is; I’m lost without my job.
I send Avery another message, telling her to stay put with her detail at the crime lab until I get there to pick her up. I stuff my phone away, hoping like hell she actually listens to me.
Lark and Gannet is a swanky law firm set amid the downtown courthouse district. I’ve been itching to get inside this building and kick up the dirt around Maddox and the other lawyers I just know have some skeletons hiding behind their doors.
And now I’m here.
It’s not the way I planned—by implementing a more detective like, stealthy approach, having nailed down the dirt on them first. But we’re running out of time. Avery’s running out of time. I’ll beat the dirt out of them if I have to.
What’s the captain going to do? Suspend me?
As I walk up to the double doors, Sadie is waiting out front, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and her signature jean jacket open to reveal a white, nondescript T-shirt. I swear, she dresses like she’s still in college just to throw suspects off their game.
It’s either that, or she really doesn’t want to stand out. Making herself difficult to be remembered. Trying to profile a profiler is like playing cat’s cradle with my brain; once I think I’ve strung a connection together, the strings get all jumbled.
I eye her curiously as I approach. “You call anything in to Wexler or the team?” I ask.
She tilts her head, squinting against the sun peeking through the clouds. “Nope. I wanted my partner’s input first.”
“Gee, Bonds. You really know how to stroke a guy’s ego.”
Her smile is sincere. “Figured you were getting bored.”
That’s an understatement. “What’s this about?” I ask as we enter the foyer.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. Carson and I snooped around, asked some vague questions to try to get a read on the lawyers, but it wasn’t until I was headed back to the department that I got a call from Chase Larkin.”
I stop short and face her.
She shrugs. “He requested that we both meet with him. That he was adamant about. You now know as much as I do.”
I seriously doubt that. Sadie has an uncanny ability to gather intel where the average person sees and hears nothing. She then has another sage ability to hide that intel away for her own future use.
I’m not knocking it…but it would be nice to channel those talents to work for us, especially now as a woman with dark hair wearing a slick business suit stalks forward. Just what are we about to get ourselves into?
“Detective Quinn and Agent Bonds?” she addresses us. Once we confirm we’re in fact the ones, she directs us toward a bank of elevators. “Please, follow me.”
We arrive on the top floor, where she leads us past offices and cubicles to a corner office. Chase Larkin’s name printed in gold script on the door. The only door that’s not glass.
“Mister Larkin is ready for you.” She opens the door and leads us in.
No wait. Interesting. I don’t know what I expected. When dealing with lawyers, you usually have to jump through flaming hoops and produce warrants written in blood. “You didn’t have to field any evasive tactics?” I whisper to Sadie.
“Surprisingly, no. The only catch was that Larkin insisted you be here for the questioning.”
I expect the woman to leave, but she takes up post next to Larkin’s desk. No hidden agenda, then. We won’t get anything relevant. This has to be some kind of stalling tactic.
Chase Larkin is clean shaven, slick, and probably as slippery as his silk tie. He rises from his chair and motions toward a leather sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he says. “Can I offer you anything to drink? Coffee?”
Sadie declines and I shake my head. This guy is way too welcoming and eager. Especially since he has to be aware his firm is under investigation. I nod toward a glass chessboard. “You like to play, or is the board only for decoration?”
A glib smile stretches his lips. “I enjoy a game or two on occasion.”
I huff out a breath. “Well, let’s try to avoid the games today.” I give him my own bright smile. “I’m curious why you’re so zealous to work with us, Mister Larkin. If you don’t mind me being blunt.”
“Not at all.” He walks around his desk to take a seat across from us. “This is precisely why I requested you.”
A compliment, and yet he didn’t answer the question. I hold my smile despite the urge to set him straight. I’m not here at his request. “I think you want us to see how cooperative you and your firm are, prove just how little you have to hide. I hope you’re not wasting our time, because I’m sure you’re aware by now of the murders plaguing our city.”
His sharp features darken. “Detective Quinn, I’m very aware of that, and the fact that, technically, you have no right to be questioning me at all. Considering you’ve been suspended.” He laces his hands together atop his desk. “But I like your no-bullshit manner. And I think we can help each other.”
Sadie cuts her eyes at me, and I know—the only reason Larkin wants me here is simple: anything he divulges can be thrown out due to my suspension. Fucking lawyers.
I nod for her to address Larkin. “A partner at your firm was acquainted with one of the victims,” she says. “Do you have any knowledge of Marcy Beloff? Or how Ryland Maddox was associated with her?”
Larkin relaxes back in his chair. “I think you’re asking the wrong questions. You’re going about this like a simple murder investigation.”
She cranes an eyebrow. “And just how should we be conducting this interview?”
He looks at the woman. “Alexis, can you please give the officers the copies.” The woman, Alexis, does as instructed, quickly gathering papers off his desk. “Miss Wilde will now show you something that I trust will remain between us; it can’t leave this office. For obvious reasons, my name can’t be implicated in your investigation. Any information I give you must be of a confidential source.” He holds up a hand, and Miss Wilde halts her steps. “I need to be assured of this before any information is exchanged.”
If I ever shook hands with the devil, I have a feeling he’d be wearing an Armani suit and silk tie. Sadie lays her hand near me on the couch, signaling that she’s ready to try to restrain me if needed. She knows I’m about two seconds away from jacking this guy up by his collar and shaking the information out of him.
If he has anything, anything at all that will help Avery, he’s giving it to me before I leave this room. How ever I have to obtain it.
Regardless, for the sake of his game, I’ll give him the illusion he’s in control. I suck down a tight breath. “I assure you, Mister Larkin, whatever transpires in this room will not leave.” And it better be damn good.
His smile isn’t as smug as it should be. He nods once, giving Miss Wilde permission to advance. “Mister Larkin received this message the day he was visited by an anonymous man,” she says.
She first hands Sadie a photocopied page, and then one to me. My eyebrows pull together as I stare at a copy of a business card, front and back. The card belongs to Ryland Maddox, attorney at law. His number and firm address, but it’s the backside of the card that sets my jaw.
It’s just a signature, but one I now recognize as the Alpha.
“Where’s the original?” I ask.
“Someplace safe.”
“You’re trying to tell us the Alpha gave you Maddox’s business card?” I look Larkin right in the eyes. “Why? Is he the Alpha?”
He holds my stare. “I’m not trying to tell you anything, Detective Quinn. I’m imparting sensitive information to you. Information on the very criminal network you’re investigating. And I don’t know whether Maddox is the Alpha or not.”
I shake my head, set the paper aside. “Giving us a false lead to take the heat off of your firm isn’t only tactless, it’s illegal. As I’m sure you know, I can charge you with interference.”
“I can assure you,” Alexis says, turning all heads her way. “We’re very aware of the implication of falsifying evidence. I’m a witness to the transaction that took place between Mister Larkin and the anonymous source.”
I shift my gaze to Larkin, studying him. “Maybe you should let your assistant head this up,” I say. “Miss Wilde seems a little more prepared to tango with the ACPD.”
Sadie sits forward. I can tell she’s losing patience with my temper. “Let’s assume this message is real. Why you, Mister Larkin? Why would the head of a crim
inal network direct you to hire a specific lawyer?”
Larkin sits forward, elbows to knees, and steeples his fingers together. “So they can have access to The Firm.”
I shake my head. “That’s too vague. You know what this person wants from you. Specifically. Money laundering? Or something more appealing. Like representing members of this crime ring. Making sure they don’t see a day of prison.” I narrow my gaze on him. “Just like your boy Maddox already appears to be doing.”
His features harden. I struck a nerve. He’s the boss here. The man in control. And seeing how he not only hired Maddox but made him an equal partner, he submitted to this request. Which means, whoever gave him this card has some pretty big dirt on Larkin.
“You’re thinking too small, detective.” Larkin stands and leans against his desk, making sure he’s looking down at us. “This person doesn’t just want access to my law firm—they want access to The Firm.” At my obvious confusion, he says, “I run an exclusive members only organization for the…” He pauses here, selecting his words carefully. “For the elites of society. Those who wish not to have their sexual appetites exposed to the world.”
Fucking hell. This city is crawling with fucking perverts. I spear a hand through my hair, purposely avoiding eye contact with Sadie. This is right up her alley, and I suddenly feel bitter. Bitter and angry—angry that I have no knowledge of the underground workings of my own city.
Naivety is the worst disposition. I’m like a giant, goofy kid stumbling around in the sandbox with the rest of the cool kids.
Despite my desire to shred this topic and get immediate answers, I let Sadie take the lead on this one. It’s her damn area of expertise, and I need to pay attention to any subtle nuances during their exchange.
Picking up on my cue, Sadie proceeds, looking far less disturbed by this information than me. “So The Firm belongs to you,” she says, and I want to balk. Of course she knows of its existence. Her and Rope Boy probably frequent it.
Larkin smiles, impressed. “Actually, it belongs to the members. I just oversee it. Make sure everybody plays by the rules.”
