by Pat White
“Anyone else use the drugs?”
“He thinks a few of the boys at the fraternity.”
“Find the fax number for the nurses’ station. I’ll have Jeremy fax over an image of a suspect. Show it to the boy.”
“They gave him a sedative,” Bobby said. “It will be a couple of hours before he regains consciousness.”
“Bloody hell.”
“There’s something else,” Bobby said. “I’m not sure it means anything, but the boy doesn’t have a good luck coin, you know, like the one you found at the fraternity, the Goddess of Justice?”
Which meant it belonged to another fraternity member. Or it had been left by the killer.
“Keep watch for Jeremy’s fax. You’ll want to show it to Mr. Cooper the moment he wakes up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work, Bobby.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Max flipped the phone closed and handed it to Jeremy.
“Bobby will phone you with the fax number of the nurses’ station. Fax over a photograph of Rodney Barker for the Cooper boy to identify. We need a connection between our drug dealer and all three victims.”
“Guv?” Jeremy questioned.
“My guess is the victim is injected with a drug to make him powerless. That’s why he willingly goes off with the killer. Remember the Cooper boy describing the alley? He heard a woman whimpering, and was stung by a bee. What if it was a hypodermic filled with a hallucinogen? The Cooper boy said he felt as though he was in a dream. Find me a connection, Jeremy.”
“Yes, sir. Agent Kreegan isn’t one hundred percent positive if it was Rodney Barker who attacked her. We’re checking into a few other members of the Apocalypse Red gang.”
“Very good. Cassie and I will join you in a minute.”
Jeremy disappeared down the hallway.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cassie said.
He glanced at her. “What?”
“Your attack?”
“No.” He picked up his pack of cigarettes and placed them on the nightstand.
“What scares you?” Cassie asked.
“Besides you?” he joked.
“I’m serious.”
“You want to know what scares me?” He plucked a ciggie from the pack and searched the room for a lighter. “Not finding the killer tops the list.”
“But you’re doing everything you can.”
“Small comfort if we don’t stop him.” He gave up his search for a lighter and looked at her. “You don’t know about the Edmonds boy.”
“Who?”
“C.K.’s second victim in London—Charles Edmonds the third. By all accounts he was a nice, boring sort of chap. Worked hard in school, got excellent marks. He was an only child, and C.K. killed him. His father, Charles the second, blamed me for the boy’s death.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Just the same, the father nearly had my job. I was under an enormous amount of pressure to find the killer. Like I didn’t put enough pressure on myself.”
“What happened?”
He shot her a sarcastic grin. “I was blown up at King’s Cross. Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t been under the threat of losing my job, if I hadn’t been distracted by that pressure, I would have seen it coming.”
“What?”
“The bombing. Maybe I would have noticed something out of place. Anyway, I tried returning to work, but between my physical condition and post-traumatic stress, I knew I would never return to SCI. I’d lost my edge.”
“Seems to me like you’ve got it back.”
“Maybe. My man is still out there being held against his will by a psychopath.”
“Then let’s stop wasting time up here brooding. Let’s go find him.” She took his hand and led him out of the room.
Out of his room, out of his misery and away from self-condemnation. They got to the top of the stairs and without thinking he turned and cupped her chin with his hand. “Thank you for so very many things.”
It started as a gesture of thanks. Then, suddenly, she pulled him down to kiss her. A quick, yet passionate kiss. Good thing he had the cane to lean on.
She broke the kiss and smiled. “You’re welcome. Let’s find Eddie.”
She went down the stairs ahead of him. That wasn’t a friendly kiss, by any measure. It had been a while since he’d properly kissed a female, but he remembered what it was like to kiss a colleague…and what it felt like to kiss someone who meant much more.
Cassie had definitely worked her way into that second category. He started down the stairs and realized that after they’d solved this case, he should clarify their relationship, tell her that for her own good she should find herself a new job and forget about Max.
And if you can do that, you’re a bloody miracle worker.
IT WAS after lunch and progress was slow. The Cooper boy hadn’t regained consciousness since the morning’s sedative, so Bobby couldn’t have him look at pictures of suspects.
Spinelli was out chasing leads on the Apocalypse Red gang members, and Agents Kreegan and McDonald were out searching for evidence. Max noticed that Barnes, the master of self-control, was acting a little edgily.
Understandable, he thought, glancing at his watch. One-thirty. They had only six and a half hours to find Eddie—hopefully, still alive.
Max had his doubts about that as well.
“Hey, guv,” Art said, coming into the main room. “Agent Kreegan and I were searching the back alley and found these.” He held up a syringe and a baseball cap.
“That’s Eddie’s hat,” Cassie said.
Max glanced at the hat and remembered how the boy wore it to keep his wild hair under control. A nice bloke, Eddie, even if he talked too much.
“Check for prints. Determine what was in the syringe,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Agent Kreegan said.
Max went to the kitchen and searched the fridge, shoving back images of Eddie being tortured and killed. The kid didn’t deserve such a gruesome fate.
Unable to eat at a time like this, he closed the refrigerator door. Cassie stared up at him.
“How are you?” she said.
When he looked into her eyes he lost himself for a second, seeing only the goodness of life, hope and promise.
“I’m fine,” he said.
But he wasn’t fine. He had to appear strong for the rest of the team. Deep down his insides were being ripped apart.
Agent Spinelli swung open the back door. “I got nothin’. I mean nothin’. I checked out the last known address for Barker and it’s an abandoned house on the south side. Sonofabitch,” he muttered and stormed out of the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.
With his arms spread across the counter, Max leaned forward and said, “I can’t let him die.”
“You can save him.”
He eyed her. “If he’s even still alive.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
Someplace deep in his chest he felt hope. “I think he is.” He glanced at her. “You said the post-traumatic stress disorder could have sharpened my sensitivity. I’m beginning to think you’re right. But I’m also having a hard time making sense of things.”
“Like what?”
“Elements of this case, for instance. Everything seems mixed up, out of order.” He sighed. “I sound like an idiot.”
“I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Meet me upstairs.”
He made his way to his room and lit a fag. With the first drag he became lightheaded, sick to his stomach. Or was he sick from the thought of what was to come next? With a trembling hand he stabbed it out.
He was scared. Tough guy Max Templeton was scared because he hadn’t a clue what Cassie planned to do to him. Was she going to make him relive his trauma to purge his system of the terror? No, he wasn’t strong enough for that.
Bollocks. If reliving that hell would help them find Eddie, then so be it.
Someone knocked softly on his door.
“Come,” he said, his nerves strung taught.
Cassie strode in carrying a large writing tablet, markers and a file. “Jeremy wanted you to see this—information about Rodney Barker.”
Max scanned the details: Parents were deceased, but he had a stepfather in Chicago, and a sister in Detroit. Twenty-nine years old, Barker had been in and out of prison for the past ten years on various charges.
“We should get started,” Cassie said, breaking his review of the Barker report.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m going to help you organize your thoughts,” she said with a smile. “What did you think I was going to do?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“There’s no time for that.” She winked.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I’m teasing. Come on. I’m a visual learner so I thought this might help you organize what’s in your head.”
She set up the writing tablet against the bookshelves and pulled out a marker. “Okay, we’ve got a killer, two dead boys, one kidnapped boy and one kidnapped agent.” She drew circles and labeled them. “Then there’s the four deaths in London.”
“Wait, don’t write that down. I don’t think these are related to the London cases.”
“Why?”
“Those murders stopped after our suspect died in a car accident. If by some chance that wasn’t him in the car, why wait two years to start up again, and in a different country? Besides that, our London killer never got close to the investigative team. He was never that bold. No, this is a different killer.”
“Good. What’s next?”
“Connections between the victims. Write down—college, fraternity and recreational drugs.”
“A drug dealer attacked Agent Kreegan, there’s another connection,” she said.
She wrote the words fraternity and drugs under straight lines drawn from the victim’s names.
“Now, tell me the things that have bothered you,” she said. “Elements that have seemed odd about this case.”
“The killer’s proximity, always knowing our next move, leaving us love notes before actually taking a victim, the mysterious coin, Agent Kreegan being attacked outside the flat.”
“Maybe she’s close to finding the killer.”
“We’re not close, we’re there.” Max stood and went to Cassie’s chart. “It’s right in front of us. This bastard is always there, but he’s always hiding behind someone, like a king hidden behind his front line in chess. The young man getting instructions in a phone booth. A woman calling the Cooper boy and luring him to the bar, then leaving him a note to meet out back. And right now—” he pointed to Rodney Barker’s name “—I think he’s our pawn. We get behind him, we find our killer.”
Max grabbed his cane and started down the hall.
He felt Cassie behind him, always there to hold him up. He’d be lost without this girl.
He made his way down the stairs and into the front room.
“Guv,” Art said, greeting him. “Agent Kreegan did some digging into old case files and found a record of working on one of Barker’s drug busts.”
Max looked at Kreegan, who seemed anxious. “I nailed the guy, but he got off on a technicality. What if this is about that case and has nothing to do with Eddie? God, I’d hate to be steering us in a wrong direction.”
A wave of panic filled Max’s chest.
Follow your instincts, mate.
“Barker is key,” Max said. “And I think he has an accomplice.”
“Why do you say that?” Kreegan asked.
“He’s not smart enough to do this on his own—the kidnapping, staging, etcetera. We need to find him. Let’s start with the stepfather.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Cassie said. “Who’s got the stepfather’s phone number?”
Spinelli handed her a slip of paper. “The Chicago cops said Barker hasn’t spoken with his stepfather in years. Besides, Henry Adler is an elder at his church, he’d have nothing to do with a criminal like Barker, even if he is his stepson.”
She punched in the number. “Hello, Mr. Adler? This is the sweepstakes division of Universal Production companies and we’re looking for a Rodney T. Barker. Yes, sir, he’s won a prize. May I speak with him? Uh-huh. Thank you so much.”
She hung up. “He doesn’t live there, but he’ll leave him a note on the garage, where he stores his personal items.”
“Like kidnapped agents,” Art said.
“I’ve got Adler’s address on Harlem,” Spinelli said.
“That’s it. Everyone’s going,” Max ordered. “I’m not letting any of you out of my sight until we’ve nailed this bastard. Agent Barnes, we’ll need equipment.”
“It’s covered.”
Max looked at Cassie, placing a hand to her shoulder. “You understand why I won’t leave you here?”
“Yes.”
For a split second he felt a connection to her that eased his anxiety.
“I’ve got directions,” Spinelli said, grabbing a sheet of paper from the printer.
“Let’s get to it, then,” Max said.
They filed out to the SUV, Max focused on finding Eddie, safe and alive.
Adrenaline started to hum low in his gut. He sensed the rest of his team strung taut with nerves. Jeremy’s white-knuckled fingers on the steering wheel belied his controlled appearance.
The car was dead silent except for Spinelli’s verbal directions. Twenty minutes later Spinelli motioned for Barnes to pull to the curb.
“The stepfather’s house is the red brick number across the street,” Spinelli explained. “The garage is out back, in the alley.”
“We should make contact with the stepfather so he doesn’t call police when he sees us on his property,” Max said.
Barnes turned to address the team. “Everyone wears a vest. I’ve got them in the back, along with firearms.”
Max glanced into the back seat. “Barnes and Spinelli, check out the garage while McDonald and I make introductions to the stepfather. Agent Kreegan and Cassie, stay in the car.”
“I’d rather come, sir,” Agent Kreegan said. “In case you need medical aid for Eddie.”
“Fine. Cassie, keep the doors locked.”
He got out and went around back where Jeremy handed out vests and firearms. He handed Max a gun that looked familiar.
“Left this behind in London,” Jeremy said.
“Thanks.” Max secured his weapon, appreciating Barnes even more. “McDonald and I will meet you, Spinelli and Kreegan out back.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy said.
The three agents disappeared around the corner.
Max took position next to the door. Art McDonald pressed the doorbell. Once. Twice.
Someone pulled back the window covering and Art placed his Scotland Yard ID to the glass. The front door opened.
“Yes?” an older man said.
“Mr. Adler?”
“Yes.”
“We’re looking for Rodney T. Barker.”
“He doesn’t live here.”
“I understand, sir. We’re running a private investigation and would like your permission to—”
A gunshot echoed from the back of the house.
“Go inside and lock the doors,” Max ordered the stepfather.
McDonald raced around back.
Max ripped his firearm from the holster and, leaning heavily on his cane, hobble-skipped to the back of the house. Art grabbed him by the vest and pulled him to the ground, next to a cement planter. “Get down, guv.”
Max studied the garage, tall and white, with a broken window up top.
“I think Barnes and his team are inside,” Art said.
The side door to the garage burst open and a man jumped out, waving a gun and yelling. “The angel of death will find you! Take you to the park and slay you. Red blood dripping from your eyes, she’ll love you until you die.”
“Mr. Barker, we’d like to talk to you,” Max ca
lled. “Could you put down your weapon?”
“Dance and dance, and spin and bleed, and drink and dance and spin again.” He twirled in circles like a child pretending to be a ballerina.
“Stoned,” Max said.
“Bloody looped,” Art agreed.
“A gun, for fun, drink rum, go numb!” He tossed the gun to the ground and a shot rang out.
At first Max thought the thrown gun had discharged, then he spotted Agent Kreegan standing by the garage, her gun drawn.
She’d shot him.
Max and Art jumped from their hiding spot and raced across the alley. McDonald kicked the gun away from the suspect and knelt down to feel for a pulse. He nodded to Max that the man was dead. Kreegan still stood there, gun drawn.
“It’s done now,” McDonald said to her, pushing on her arms to lower her weapon.
Max went into the darkened garage and tripped on something. He caught his balance and looked down.
And there, on the hard cement lay Jeremy Barnes.
Chapter Fourteen
Max fell to his knees beside Jeremy. This was unacceptable. Jeremy was not dead. Max wouldn’t allow it.
Keep your wits, old boy. He’s wearing a vest.
Someone slid open the door, lighting the garage. “Guv?” Art said.
“Eddie’s up here!” Spinelli called from the loft. “He’s alive. I’ll bring him down.”
Max felt for Jeremy’s pulse. Slow and steady.
“I’ve never seen him like this.” Art knelt beside Jeremy’s still form. “He looks so beaten.”
“He’ll be fine.” Max spotted a bullet lodged in the vest. Barnes was going to be sore. Max hoped there weren’t any serious internal injuries.
“Jeremy? Wake up, mate,” Max encouraged.
Jeremy moaned and rolled onto his side, hugging his midsection. “Since when was I ever your mate?” he muttered.
A breath of relief escaped Max’s lips.
“Brilliant, guv,” Art said. “He’s okay.”
“I’m not okay, I’m bloody furious,” Jeremy said. He tipped his head back and eyed Max. “You look like hell. Didn’t you catch the bastard?”
“Agent Kreegan shot him,” Max said, then nodded to Art to check on Kreegan.
“Good,” Jeremy said. “Eddie, he’s up in the loft.”
