“Right, I think I understand,” Jankowksi said, although he wasn’t sure what was going on, other than his partner had failed to tell him about crucial evidence she’d obtained without warrant in a murder investigation and had gone behind his back to get that evidence tested.
“So, you’ll let Nessa know?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I’m going to hunt her down right now.”
But as soon as Jankowksi had hung up, the phone lit up again, this time with a call from an external number.
The caller ID displayed a number that Jankowksi recognized. It was Nessa’s home number.
“What are you doing at home, Nessa?” Jankowksi said, his voice curt. “Based on your texts I thought you'd be here waiting.”
The was a slight pause on the other end, then Jerry Ainsley cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet voice.
“Nessa’s not home yet, Simon. And she’s not brought the sandbags by either. The boys and I are getting pretty worried since she’s not answering her phone.”
Jankowski heard anger behind Jerry’s calm words.
Sounds like there’s trouble in paradise to me.
But his irritation with Nessa for going behind his back overrode any empathy he might have for her domestic problems.
“Sorry to say, Jerry, but it looks like your wife may be keeping both of us in the dark. Seems she likes having secrets.”
Jankowski shook his head and sighed, then forced himself to calm down. Maybe Nessa had a good explanation.
He shouldn’t be taking out his frustration on poor Jerry anyway.
“Look, I’m sorry, Jerry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure Nessa is fine and that she’ll be home soon.”
But Jerry had already hung up.
Jankowksi cursed into the empty room.
This was all Nessa’s doing. He needed to find her and make her tell him everything she knew. He took out his phone and tapped in a text.
Prints on glass match prints at Lorenzo scene. We need to talk to Bellows. Call me as soon as you get this.
He thought for a minute, then got up and shut the door. This discussion called for privacy.
He tapped on a number he hadn’t expected to call so soon. A deep voice answered after the first ring, but the sounds of traffic and wind made it hard to hear the words.
“Hey Tucker, it’s me,” Jankowski called out, raising his voice as if the noise was coming from his end of the line.
“What’s up, man?”
Vanzinger’s voice broke in and out as he yelled to be heard over the ruckus around him.
“My unit’s headed over to the coast. We’re on standby to run rescue. You okay?”
“The shit’s going to start hitting the fan here very soon. The Lorenzo case is blowing up, and it looks like the Steele case may be connected. Once the press finds out we screwed this up…well, you need to get your head straight. Be ready to answer questions.”
Vanzinger didn’t respond right away, and for a minute Jankowski thought the connection had dropped.
“You still there, Tucker?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Vanzinger’s voice sounded grim.
“But, listen, Jank, this whole thing, it’s way worse than you think. If I come forward, I’ll be putting my life on the line. And anyone who tries to help me will be at risk, too.”
“Whatever it is you know, you have to come clean,” Jankowski said, wondering even as he said it, if he knew what he was doing. “People are getting killed. You have to make this right.”
“I know. I’m just warning you, it’s not gonna be easy.”
“Nothing ever is, man. Nothing ever is.”
A voice on a megaphone sounded somewhere behind Vanzinger. Jankowski could hear a man shouting orders.
“Gotta go, Jank. I'll keep my phone on as long as I can, just in case anything comes up before this storm blows through.”
“Okay, Tucker. Thanks.”
“And Jank?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
The line dropped and Jankowski found himself replaying Vanzinger’s words over in his head.
It’s way worse than you think. I’ll be putting my life on the line.
He wondered what could be worse than convicting an innocent man and letting a killer go free to kill again.
A sudden knock on the door made him jump up.
“Yeah, come in.”
The door opened and Gabby Jankowski stepped into the office, yesterday’s pink suit replaced by a forest green blouse and dark, slim-fitting jeans that accentuated her long legs.
“Are you taking a nap in here, Simon?”
Gabby’s voice had the same effect on Jankowski’s nerves as fingernails on a chalkboard.
“What I do is no longer your concern, Gabby. But if I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to find excuses to see me.”
“Dream on, Simon. That boat has already sailed long ago.”
“So, what do you want?”
“Well, I thought you’d be out there sandbagging or doing something helpful, instead of slacking off, but in this case I’m glad.”
“And why is that?”
“Because our house needs to be secured ahead of the hurricane, Simon, and I’m too busy to take care of it myself.”
Jankowksi raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“You’re living in that house with your new boyfriend, for fuck’s sake, Gabby. You think I’m going to come around and make sure you both stay safe and cozy?”
Gabby rolled her eyes at his comments.
“No need to be vulgar, Simon. And until we sell the house, you have just as much responsibility to take care of it as I do.”
The familiar rage started to simmer in Jankowski’s chest, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady, keep his face neutral.
He didn’t want to let Gabby see she’d gotten under his skin.
“You seem to have enough time to come here and bother me. Why not use that time more wisely. Go get some sandbags. Board up some windows. Maybe get your boytoy to help you.”
“Actually, Bodhi already evacuated. He went with his mother to Ft. Lauderdale. They have family there.”
“So, he’s run off with mommy and left you to fend for yourself?”
Jankowski shrugged and shook his head.
“Sounds like young Bodhi’s got his priorities straight, as do I. I’m not leaving here to haul sandbags to your house. There’s a homicide investigation on and I’ve got a job to do.”
Gabby narrowed her eyes and put both hands on her slim hips.
“Why do you always have to be such a jerk?”
Gabby spun around to leave, then stopped and looked over her shoulder, her pretty face twisted into an ugly sneer.
“And you wonder why I found another man to make me happy.”
“Whatever your reason, you did me a favor, now get out.”
Jankowski slammed the door shut, blocking out all thoughts of his ex-wife and her petty insults. He needed to find Nessa, and they needed to question Dr. Bellows before it was too late.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Barker hefted the last of the burlap sandbags up and into the trunk of Nessa’s Charger, his arms trembling with the exertion. Each bag weighed about thirty pounds, and Barker hadn’t done much heavy lifting since his heart attack. He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of a gritty hand, trying not to let Nessa see how much the exertion had taken out of him.
She’d called him in a panic after discovering the city distribution center had run out of sandbags, and that all of the home improvement stores in the area had closed due to the severe weather. The town was hunkering down, and Nessa was totally unprepared.
Luckily Barker still had a shed full of sandbags left over from the previous hurricane warning. That hurricane had suddenly shifted course and Barker had been left with a mountain of sandbags he didn’t need; he readily agreed to share his supply with Nessa. She had raced over, hoping
to drop off the bags at home and be back to the station before anyone found out.
“The chief’s ordered all essential personnel to remain on duty and be ready to respond to emergency call outs,” she told him, adjusting the hood of her yellow slicker.
Rain spewed down from the gray mass of clouds above them, and Barker raised weary eyes to the sky, wondering how the Calla Lilies in the cemetery were holding up. He imagined the petals would likely be torn apart and scattered in the wind by now.
Nessa’s phone vibrated and buzzed in her pocket for about the tenth time since she’d arrived, and this time she took it out and glared at the screen.
“Jerry, again. He’s pissed that I haven’t gotten these bags home already. I’ll call him back once I’m on the road.”
Barker shook his head and sighed.
“He and the boys are probably worried, Nessa. It’s kind of shitty to just ignore the call.”
“I’d say he’s acting more jealous than worried,” Nessa said, her voice defensive. “He’s got some crazy idea in his head, and I don’t have time to deal with that right now.”
Before she could say more her phone buzzed again.
“Holy cow! I knew it!”
Nessa looked up at Barker with wide eyes, her face a mixture of excitement and disbelief.
“The fingerprints on the glass match the print from the Lorenzo scene. Dr. Bellows was at the motel that night. He really could be the man who killed Natalie…or at least he might know who did.”
Barker digested the information as Nessa slammed the Dodge’s trunk shut and sloshed through expanding puddles of muddy water to the driver’s side door.
“I’ve gotta go. I need to get back to the station.”
She backed into the road and accelerated toward town, her tires spraying water in her wake, not bothering to say good-bye.
The phone was in Barker’s hand before the red glow of the Charger’s taillights had disappeared around the corner. By the second ring he was already running for his Prius
“Leo? The prints match. Bellows was at the Lorenzo scene. I can meet you at his place in ten minutes.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The BMW pulled into Grand Isles Estates just ahead of Barker, spraying up a sheet of rainwater that coated the Prius with a soupy mixture of leaves and mud.
Barker was relieved to see Dr. Bellows’ van parked on the driveway in front of the house. He pulled in behind Leo, then cursed when he saw Frankie emerge from the passenger side of the BMW.
“Why’d you bring him, Leo? He’s a suspect in an ongoing murder investigation.”
“Exactly. Frankie’s been accused of a murder that he didn’t commit,” Leo agreed, his voice hard. “So, he has a vested interest in finding out who did it, and I think Bellows is just the man to talk to.”
“Don’t worry, Barker, I’ll let you and Leo do all the talking.”
Frankie flashed an innocent smile and began trudging through the rain after Leo. Barker had no choice but to follow behind, his regret at calling Leo growing with each step.
I should’ve waited for Nessa instead of involving these two hotheads.
Both Leo and Frankie were emotionally invested, and neither had police or security training. If Bellows decided to greet them with a shotgun, the men would be woefully unprepared to deal with the situation. Barker put his hand on the outline of his gun. He was suddenly glad he’d holstered it under his raincoat before getting out of the car.
“Let me handle this,” Barker said, pushing his way in front of Leo and blocking the front door. “You two stand back for now.”
He knocked firmly on the door and called out, “Dr. Bellows, we’d like to speak to you. We just have a few questions.”
No sound from inside.
Frankie cleared his throat.
“Um, can I make a suggestion?”
“No, just stand there and stay quiet,” Barker said, knocking again and glaring over his shoulder at Frankie.
Leo leaned forward to knock as well, his impatience palpable.
Barker stepped off the front stoop and walked to a big bay window that faced the street. Leo followed him and they tried to peer in, but the blinds were drawn, blocking any hopes of seeing inside.
“Uh, guys, the door’s unlocked.”
Barker looked over just in time to see Frankie disappear into the house. In his haste to get inside, Barker slipped in the mud and almost went down, but Leo grabbed his arm and helped him regain his balance. With slippery, eager feet they scurried over to the door and followed Frankie inside.
“Frankie?”
Leo’s deep voice seemed to echo down the hall, and Barker felt a chill make its way up his spine.
“I’m in here, guys,” Frankie called out from a room off the hall, his voice weak and unusually high-pitched. “You better get in here.”
But before Barker could make it into the room, Frankie staggered out and ran for the front door. He knelt and stuck his head out into the rain, retching out strings of bile onto the soggy doormat.
Barker stared back at Frankie, then lifted his eyes to Leo, who stood frozen in the hall. Wordlessly they walked toward the doorway, both somehow knowing what they would see, but still unprepared for the bloody scene spread out in front of them as they entered.
Dr. Bellows was splayed on the floor, blood and brains painted in gory streaks all around him. Terri Bellows sat cold and stiff in her wheelchair, her face trapped in a horrified grimace behind the plastic bag. Barker inched into the room and saw that Bellows clutched a small gun in his left hand. He wanted to turn his eyes away but couldn’t.
“Looks like a murder-suicide,” Leo muttered, instinctively putting a hand over his nose and mouth to block the nauseating smell that had already permeated the room.
His words struck a memory in Barker’s mind. Another scene five years earlier. Barker had responded to a 911 call. Mercy Lancaster and her husband, Preston Lancaster, were dead. Eden Winthrop had come by to check on her sister and found the bodies. It looked like a murder-suicide. Except Eden had blood on her hands. Except the angle of the bullet that hit Preston wasn’t right.
“Barker, you okay?”
Leo’s voice brought Barker back to the current day. The current blood bath. Five years had passed, but here he stood, still surrounded by death and carnage.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just trying to think what we should do.”
“Well, I know enough to know we shouldn’t mess with the scene,” Leo said, backing out of the room.
“Maybe we should look around the house for other victims?” Barker suggested.
“Good idea,” Leo agreed. “Kara Stanislaus is still missing.”
Leo strode further down the hall, and Barker followed close on his heels, his hand on the butt of his weapon, ready to pull and shot if someone jumped out at them from the shadows.
But the kitchen was empty. The clean floors and counters showed no sign of a struggle. No blood or gore stained the walls or floors.
“Look at this,” Leo said, crossing to the kitchen table.
Barker looked over his shoulder and began to read. By the time he’d scanned the page his pulse was racing, and he looked over at Leo with worried, empathetic eyes.
Leo’s back was stiff and straight, but Barker could feel him trembling.
“Your mother…” Barker tried to say, but his throat tightened and closed up.
“Yes, that bastard in there killed my mother,” Leo gritted out between clenched teeth. “He killed her to stop her from going to the police.”
“Looks like he’s been…busy,” Barker said, scanning the note again, trying to make sense of it all.
Could the prissy doctor have really done everything he’d confessed to in the letter? Could he really have killed all those women on his own and gotten away with it all these years? It was hard to believe, and Barker knew that scenes could be staged, and evidence planted. He flinched as Frankie’s voice sounded from down the hall.
“The
cops are here.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The girl was asleep on the bed when Ace entered the room for the last time. He stared down at her raw, swollen ankle, still firmly enclosed in the cuff, and shook his head. Some of the girls never learned to accept their fate, although in a way he actually admired the stubborn ones. And he had to admit it was more satisfying to break the spirit of a tiger than a lamb. Of course, in the end it didn’t matter. They all went into the ground eventually, no matter how fiercely they had fought to stay alive.
Ace picked up the empty bag that had held the fentanyl. It was on the floor, having been discarded once the girl had swallowed the contents in a vain attempt to stop the pain.
The pills should keep her under for the drive out to the farm.
If they didn’t, he would take care of her the old-fashioned way. He flexed his fingers and imagined them squeezing the tender flesh of the girl’s throat.
There won’t be so much blood that way, and it’ll be something new.
Pulling a metal key from his pocket, he slipped it into the lock on the bottom of the ankle cuff. The key turned smoothly, and the shackle clattered to the floor. He kicked the shackle out of the way and pulled the girl’s limp body off the bed and onto the tarp he’d spread out on the floor below.
A soft grunt escaped Kara’s lips when she hit the ground, but she didn’t move as Ace rolled the tarp and dragged it to the door. He hesitated, wondering if he should check the vicinity once more before bringing her downstairs, but then decided it wasn’t worth the extra time. Who would be out in this weather nosing around?
He heaved the heavy bundle up and into the back of the truck, then adjusted the tarp over the girl and rolled the truck bed cover down. He surveyed the end result, satisfied that girl eight was ready for the drive out to the farm, and pushed the remote to open the garage door. As the door slid up, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His breath caught in his throat, and for a minute he wondered if he was hallucinating.
A white Ford Expedition had pulled into the driveway, and a tall, blonde woman climbed out. She popped open an umbrella and held it over her head as she looked around. She turned to let a golden retriever hop down after her.
Girl Eight: A Mercy Harbor Thriller Page 22
