The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  But he couldn’t think like that. He had to catch the guy first.

  * * *

  Nicole walked around the table again. This last shot seemed downright impossible. So impossible that there were probably several hundred dollars on the corner of the table saying that she couldn’t do it.

  That would only make this victory all the sweeter. She was down to the eight ball. She either sank the ball after running the table all night, or she lost. It was that simple. And she played by the rules that the eight ball couldn’t even touch another ball on its way to the pocket.

  Which was slightly inconvenient, since there were two balls in the way of that corner pocket. She could see the look of satisfaction on Kent’s face. To lose without ever getting to hit a ball, that was going to sting the profiler’s ego.

  They had attracted quite the crowd. As a matter of fact, everyone in the bar, including the bartender, was gathered around to watch this—hopefully—last shot. The only person not in attendance was a biker with a long handlebar mustache. He wore traditional biker leather gear with fringe on his sleeves. The guy looked way too serious to be a fanboy at the pool table. It looked like he was nursing a whiskey, neat.

  But back to the pool table. She really should just pass the shot off and avoid a scratch and instant defeat. But that’s not how Nicole rolled.

  Instead, she got down to business. She traced the path with the tip of her stick. “Double bank shot into the corner pocket.”

  “You are kidding, right?” Kent said.

  “Nope,” Nicole answered. She set her splayed fingers up, sliding the stick in and out, getting up the courage to take the shot. Laser-focused, Nicole hit the ball. It hit the side at just the right angle and bounced off, heading in a new direction. It missed the number three ball by a hair, then hit the other side of the table. It still had enough velocity to zip across the table. It hit the pocket at an angle, though, then bounced against the pocket three or four times like a pinball, then finally dropped into the pocket.

  A whoop went up around her. Kent was even smiling. Nicole took a little bow, then got out the rack. “Anyone else want to play me?” she asked as she grabbed all the cash on the corner of the table and tucked it into her back pocket.

  Surprisingly there weren’t any takers.

  As the crowd dispersed, Kent kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations. And thank you.”

  “For what?” Nicole asked as she picked up one of the buffalo wings. Taking a bite of the spicy hot wing coated in the cool ranch dip, she realized that the profiler was right, they were the best wings in town.

  “For identifying that loner over in the corner. I’ll get his name later and run it.”

  “So this was a surveillance gig,” Nicole shot back.

  “Of course it was. Did you really think I’d bring you here romantically?”

  “Since I don’t have a lot of information on what you consider romantic, yes I did.”

  Kent shook his head. “Oh, ye of little faith. No, I’ve been staking out this bar for months, but couldn’t isolate anyone being antisocial. I needed the feminine touch.”

  “You could have just told me that.”

  Again, the profiler shook his head. “The observer effect occurs.”

  Nicole sighed. She’d heard this before. The phrase originally came from physics—however, Kent applied it to investigations. “If the person knows they are being observed, they change their behavior.”

  “Exactly,” Kent said, giving her another kiss on the cheek. “Would you really have been so showy and bold had you known a serial killer might be lurking nearby?”

  No, she probably wouldn’t have. She would have been worried that she was broadcasting her intentions and held back. Nicole really hated it when Kent was right. She took a sip of the pale ale—he was correct about how smooth the finish on the beer was.

  Then her phone vibrated on her hip. She snapped the phone free of its holster and read the text from Joshua.

  “Possible stalker spotted. Going in for a look.”

  Kent read the message over her shoulder. “Did I not tell him to observe only?”

  “We’d better get over there,” Nicole said.

  “Now.”

  * * *

  Joshua paused at the edge of the bookshelf. If he took another step forward, he would be exposed in the aisle. But, at some point, he needed to see if the guy was really there, or if it was a figment of his Mad Lib-scrambled imagination.

  Finally, after taking a deep breath, Joshua stepped from behind the rack of books and into the back aisle. He looked up and down the passage, but no one was there. However, he heard the side door click shut. The guy must have gone out that way.

  Joshua rushed to the door, opening it and stepping into the stairwell. Was that a scuff above him? Didn’t serial killer types usually go down? Like into the basement? However, this one may be smarter than that. If he went up, he could access the bridge between the library and the dorm block on level three.

  Dang it. He couldn’t lose the guy, not after he’d texted Nicole.

  Charging up the steps, Joshua made good time. The guy couldn’t have gotten very far. He paused at the third floor landing, cocking an ear to hear if the door had just shut. But there was nothing.

  Joshua opened the third floor door and looked out over the glass-enclosed walkway. No one was there.

  Had the guy gone up even further? What was his plan? The roof? The buildings were close enough together—maybe he planned to jump over. Whichever, Joshua needed to stay on the trail.

  Climbing the steps, he passed the fourth floor landing. No activity there. He went past the fifth. There were only two more floors to go.

  The sixth floor was equally boring. Then he was at the roof’s door.

  This was some bad mojo here. Joshua wasn’t all that fond of heights, and there were plenty of places to hide on a roof. How many rooftop crime scenes had he processed?

  Would he be a part of another one?

  You couldn’t run with the likes of Kent and Nicole and not take a few risks, so Joshua put his hand on the door and pushed the bar to open it. The door swung out, way too fast.

  The stalker must have grabbed the handle on the other side and jerked it open. Joshua stumbled forward, right into a bladed weapon. The sting of the puncture wound made him yelp. The injury was into his flank, though, so it shouldn’t be life threatening.

  Joshua reached out and grabbed the skinny man, flinging him to the side. The blade slipped out of Joshua’s little belly fat and dropped onto the gravel rooftop. The guy wouldn’t stay down, though. He launched at Joshua again, slamming into him and knocking them both to the ground.

  They wrestled there for a moment, until Joshua saw his opportunity and guided them toward the thin blade. Once Joshua got his hands on it, it felt like nothing more than a letter opener. Not exactly the bold weapon for a serial killer, but perhaps it was a weapon of opportunity?

  It didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact that Joshua had it in his hand. The stalker had a deadly grip on Joshua’s wrist, though, preventing him from bringing the opener around and using it on the stalker.

  The guy elbowed Joshua in the nose. Dang, that hurt. Almost worse than the stab wound. That was okay, two could play at that game. Kicking out, Joshua nailed the stalker in the kneecap. That gave him just enough leverage to wrestle his hand away from the stalker.

  Unfortunately, that appeared to be a ploy on the stalker’s part. He slammed his forehead into Joshua’s. He literally saw stars. When his vision cleared, the guy was straddling Joshua with the letter opener raised above his head, ready to strike.

  “Police!” someone shouted. “Put it down!”

  Joshua craned his neck to find Nicole aiming at the stalker.

  The guy’s beady eyes flickered back and forth. Sweat rolled off of him. A drop splashed into Joshua’s eye. Gross.

  The guy didn’t stop. “Maybe it’s better this way,” he said as he raised the knife h
igher.

  A shot rang out, loud and clear, and then red spread across the stalker’s grungy T-shirt. His mouth opened as if he was going to say something, then blood ran past his lips and he tilted over backward.

  Nicole and Kent ran up. Nicole kneeled next to him. “Joshua, are you alright?”

  He nodded toward his side. “Just a flesh wound.”

  Nicole opened her phone. “Badge number sixteen eighty-four. We need a bus at the university library, roof level.” She snapped her phone closed. “They’ll be right here, Joshua,” she said as she picked up his hand and held it.

  Crap, he’d get shanked any day if it got him this kind of Nicole attention.

  Kent knelt next to the stalker. “Damn it, we needed him alive.” He felt for a pulse. “It’s there, but barely.”

  “Look, Joshua’s life was in imminent danger, yet I only shot him once instead of three times like I’m supposed to, so let’s celebrate my restraint.”

  Kent snorted and held off the guy’s wounds. “Joshua there would have taken another one for the team, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d like to think so,” Joshua said, then flinched. That wound, although small, still hurt like a mo’.

  “Hang on,” Nicole said as sirens sounded in the distance.

  Oh, Joshua was going to do just that.

  CHAPTER 16

  Ruben rushed into the emergency room. He found the first nurse he could find. “I heard Detective Usher was brought in?”

  Nicole came from the visitor’s area. “No, Ruben, it was Joshua. He got stabbed in the side. And I had to shoot the stalker from the library.”

  “Is it the Wallflower killer?” Ruben asked, trying not to show exactly how relieved he was that Nicole had not been the victim.

  Nicole shrugged. “Kent just looked at the guy, said, ‘he’s got a goatee,’ and went off to the cafeteria.”

  Yep, that sounded like Kent.

  “Do you need me to track down any information on the guy?”

  Nicole shook her head. “He had his wallet on him. He’s been arrested numerous times on Peeping Tom charges and stalking in the third degree.”

  “That’s a big leap to serial killer.”

  Nicole frowned. “I know. He really doesn’t fit the profile at all.”

  Not that profiles were one hundred percent. Even Kent made mistakes, but with this audience, Ruben didn’t bother to bring that up.

  “What’s Kent’s plan?”

  “The guy is in surgery and expected to be out in two hours. Once he’s awake, Kent wants to question him.”

  “But I thought that Kent didn’t think that he was Wallflower?”

  “No, but Kent thinks that if the guy was stalking Rhonda, he might have noticed Wallflower.”

  That made sense, in a weird kind of way.

  “Who is on Rhonda right now?” Ruben asked.

  “At this point, we couldn’t exactly keep the truth from her any longer. She’s got two uniformed police officers on her now until we catch Wallflower.”

  “Good.” Ruben was never a fan of the “let’s leave the victim out there as bait” plan. Although it was one of Kent’s favorites.

  Nicole sat down hard on the cold plastic seats that lined the waiting room wall.

  “Did you get cleared?” Ruben asked. How Kent could have left Nicole was beyond him. She had just shot someone then was hauled into the shooting board. If they found that she used excessive force, she could lose her gun and badge and end up on suspension for who knew how long.

  Nicole nodded. “I already gave my statement. They said they would have a ruling by Monday. Until then, no weapon.”

  “So administrative duty only?” Ruben asked.

  She nodded again, hanging her head down. This was never easy for anyone. No matter what the media made it look like, shooting someone else always took its toll. Then, to have your actions scrutinized over and over again just made you relive the horrible experience ad nauseam.

  “I’m sure you’ll get cleared,” Ruben said, trying to reassure her, but nothing but that final report clearing you could ever make you feel better.

  Again, where the hell was Kent in this equation?

  * * *

  Kent sat in the empty cafeteria. Even the stale donuts had been picked over. No one had been down here the entire time Kent had been in a light meditative state. With the low lighting, along with the gentle hum of the refrigerator units, this was the perfect place to re-center himself.

  So much had happened in a relatively short time-span. For one, he had probably identified a new serialist at the biker bar. That one, though, he was going to have to table for the moment. Second, this new suspect had not just emerged, but had attacked Joshua, forcing Nicole to shoot him. Nicole had been hauled away for an inquest while other detectives searched the attacker’s apartment.

  It turned out his name was Reginald Hardy. Reggie, for short. A very interesting guy. Not Wallflower, of course, but interesting.

  Kent had taken the time the man was in surgery to put all of this new information in some kind of order in his head. While he wished that his process was instantaneous, it really was more akin to a percolating system. The information went in and Kent’s subconscious sorted through it all, allowing only the pertinent facts to rise to the surface.

  While Reggie was not Wallflower, Kent felt certain that he held vital clues to Wallflower’s identity.

  “Kent?” a soft voice called out from across the room. The click of her low heels and the faint smell of jasmine let Kent know that it was Nicole.

  He opened his eyes to find her looking like a vision, crossing the cafeteria, her hair floating around her face. Some women’s walk just naturally created their own wind machine. Nicole was one of them. She looked a little sad and worried, which only made him love her more.

  Nicole needed to learn to worry only about the things that would still matter in five years. This little shooting incident would blow over in a few weeks’ time. If he asked her five years from now the exact date of this inquiry, Nicole would probably not even remember the month.

  “Reggie is out of recovery,” Nicole said. “As long as we are ‘gentle,’ the doctor said we could question him.”

  Kent’s lips spread in a smile. Right. Gentle.

  “Of course,” Kent replied.

  Yeah, Nicole didn’t look like she believed him, either.

  * * *

  Nicole led the way into the hospital room. Technically, she really shouldn’t be here, but Ruben was here to represent the department, and Lord knew he didn’t want to be in here with Kent alone.

  Reggie was hooked up to half a dozen machines, all of which were beeping along happily in the green zone. She allowed herself a single sigh of relief. She had no doubt that she had acted properly, but it certainly was better to be looking at a non-fatal shooting than a fatal one.

  Kent went around to the far side of the bed and shook Reggie’s shoulder. The man’s eyes drifted open, looking sleepy and unfocused.

  “Reggie,” Kent said, shaking him again.

  “Yeah?” he answered groggily.

  “We need to talk about your little extracurricular activities,” Kent said. This time, Reggie’s eyes dilated and he pointed to her with a finger covered in a pulse oximeter probe. “She shot me.”

  Kent patted the man’s shoulder. “Yes, so maybe you should pay attention and answer my questions.”

  “Shouldn’t I have a lawyer?” Reggie asked.

  “Of course, if you formally ask for one, we will be obliged to get one for you,” Kent said, then leaned over and whispered into Reggie’s ear. Nicole could barely hear him. “But we both know you want to be on my good side.”

  Reggie gulped once, then nodded.

  “You were stalking Rhonda for how long?”

  “I only watch them,” Reggie answered.

  “Yes, I understand, but how long did you watch Rhonda?”

  “A couple of weeks, but I only watch.”

&nbs
p; “Thou doth protest too much?” Kent asked. “Because we both know that you don’t just watch. The police found your colorful thong collection. Just watching wasn’t cutting it anymore, was it Reggie?”

  The heart monitor above the Peeping Tom beeped faster and faster. “What do you want from me?”

  “We believe someone else was watching Rhonda,” Kent explained. “And we think you might know who that was.”

  “I only watch them,” Reggie repeated.

  “Yes, yes,” Kent murmured. “We know that’s what you want to believe.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Except it’s not, Reggie. We know that you broke into at least a half a dozen girls’ dorm rooms and apartments and stole their underwear. You were even getting brazen enough to do it with them in the bedroom. So you can quit the ‘I only watch them’ mantra.”

  Reggie’s heart rate spiked, turning his sensor a bright yellow. Nicole did not want that going into the red.

  “Kent. Gentle, remember?”

  * * *

  Ah, yes. Gentle. Kent stood back up and moved to the foot of the bed. He took Reggie’s chart off the hook and pretended to read it, giving the guy a moment to realize that there was someone way smarter than himself in the room. The kid clearly had been caught for being a Peeping Tom before. Unfortunately, Reggie was evolving, the “just watching” phase of his obsession long over.

  “You do realize that, beside the malignant stalking charges, they also have you for breaking and entering, along with theft and attempted murder of a law enforcement official,” Kent said. “Add all those charges together, and you’ll be going away for a very long time.”

  “But if I help you, what?”

  Kent shook his head. “Oh no, there’s nothing I can do about the total number of years that you’re going to do. But imagine the difference if you served that time in a maximum-security prison versus a minimum-security prison.

  Reggie’s eyes scanned back and forth. He was imagining it, vividly.

  “Now imagine if no one knew about the Peeping Tom charges at the prison. Everyone would recognize you only for your upper charge of attempted murder. And you’ve got a bullet wound to show off. That would give you some serious cache in a minimum security prison.”