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

by Carolyn McCray

  Kent typed back what appeared to be an enthusiastic “yes.” “Told you I got along with kids,” he said, giving himself a much-needed pat on the back, apparently. The profiler turned to Nicole. “What’s our schedule this afternoon?”

  “We’re re-interviewing the victim’s families, trying to build some connection to St. Mary’s.”

  “Alright,” Kent said, and kept texting. “How about 6 pm? I’ll bring the pizza.”

  * * *

  Nicole got into her Mustang, exiting the house of another grieving family. This was, by far, the hardest part of her job. And when it yielded no clues? It felt like a pointless exercise for both her and the families.

  They learned nothing new regarding the killers. So far, the two families they had met with did not know anything about a St. Mary’s connection. Their girls had been socially active only at their own high schools.

  Kent frowned as he looked to his phone. At least it was actually his phone this time.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Delia hasn’t texted back what kind of pizza she wants. I would imagine Hawaiian, but I’m getting worried. Can we swing by the Sherrer place next?”

  “Sure,” Nicole said, gunning the engine. That always made her feel better.

  Delia’s home wasn’t far from the next victim’s house. They would only lose a few minutes with the new detour. Not that she was a slave to a schedule, but she didn’t like to leave people hanging.

  She pulled up to a house with a large Ram pickup truck in the driveway. It looked like Mr. Sherrer was home.

  Kent beat her to the door. He knocked twice, firm, loud. No answer. Kent knocked even harder, ringing the bell next to the door even though Nicole didn’t hear any corresponding ding on the inside of the house.

  Peeking in the window, Kent pointed to Mr. Sherrer passed out in a recliner, a beer bottle dangling from his hand.

  “Well, that explains that,” Nicole said.

  “But why isn’t Delia answering?” Kent asked, pulling out his lock pick instruments.

  “Kent, we don’t have exigent circumstances.”

  “My gut does,” he responded, clicking the lock open. He pushed the door and entered. What other choice did she have but to follow? Well, Ruben would probably argue with her on that one. He’d say that she should call it in as it was. A breaking and entering.

  But Kent had his heart in the right place. Besides, the owner of the property was passed out. He might never know they were here.

  Kent bypassed the kitchen with a huge stack of dirty dishes in the sink that sprawled out onto the counters. He headed down the hallway and knocked on the door with a bright red sign, “No entry!”

  No answer. Kent knocked again, then tested the doorknob. Locked. He jimmied that one, too, and opened the door.

  There Delia hung from the ceiling.

  CHAPTER 6

  Kent rushed forward, “No!”

  He grabbed the dangling body around the waist and hoisted Delia up to take the pressure off the neck.

  “Cut her down!” Kent yelled to Nicole, even though she already had her utility knife out, ready to do the deed.

  Once the rope was cut, Delia slumped over Kent’s shoulder.

  He tenderly laid her on the ground, checking her pulse. It was thready, but it was there. She wasn’t breathing, though. Kent started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation as Nicole called for a bus.

  “Don’t do this, darlin’,” Kent begged, kicking himself for not seeing this coming. He’d put Delia in an unconscionable position. If she worked with him she’d be a leper at her school, but her instinct was to help, and worrying that another girl could die because she wasn’t brave enough to help. Neither option must have felt livable.

  “Come on,” he urged, then gave Delia another breath.

  Nicole picked up a piece of paper from the desk. “She even did the hangman’s calculation…”

  His partner was talking about the equation that hangmen had used to calculate the ideal length of rope for a hanging. Too short a fall, and the neck didn’t break and it took minutes to strangulate the prisoner. Too long a fall, and the head snapped right off.

  Delia must have given herself not enough rope—otherwise, she’d be dead.

  “Hand me that,” Kent said, just before he gave another breath. He watched to make sure that his efforts lifted her delicate breastbone, but not so much to blow out a lung. With children, you had to be careful not to give them too big a breath.

  Nicole handed him the paper. Kent scanned it quickly, then chuckled.

  “What’s funny about this?”

  Kent handed her the page back. “Delia miscalculated the rope’s length because she used her ideal weight, rather than her true weight. Vanity saved her.”

  He gave the girl another breath, and this time Delia coughed and sputtered.

  Kent rolled her onto her side and patted her back. She needed to cough out all the secretions that had built up. Once she stopped gagging, Kent rolled her back.

  “You came…” Delia said.

  Kent smoothed back her hair. “Of course I did. I knew something wasn’t right.”

  A smile flickered over her face as the bruising on her neck turned a bright red.

  “You should have let me finish it,” Delia said, rubbing at her neck.

  “Never,” Kent said. “I know it seems impossible, but high school does end, and you can move on with your life.”

  “You think I took the coward’s way out?” Delia asked.

  While Kent had some pretty strong opinions about suicide, this little girl didn’t need to know that. Besides, those circumstances didn’t apply to her. What else had she known but pain and suffering, having her entire identity rejected by society?

  “Never,” Kent said. “I’m sorry. I never should have tried to pressure you like that.”

  “I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time,” Delia said. “It wasn’t you.”

  Even in this moment of crisis, Delia was thinking of him. His throat constricted. He wasn’t all that fond of caring for other people. It just complicated things.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital and get you the help that you need,” Nicole said.

  “You mean psych meds?”

  Kent shook his head. “Again, never. There’s nothing wrong with you that acceptance can’t help.”

  He helped her up into the sitting position. “I want to help,” she said shrugging off his assistance.

  Nicole kneeled down beside Delia. “You don’t have to. We don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “But those other girls…” Delia said.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Kent reassured her, although, at this moment, he had no idea how that was going to happen.

  “No,” Delia said, shaking her head. “When I kicked the chair out and the rope caught, my only thought was, ‘why didn’t I just help?’”

  “Because you were scared, and rightfully so, of the repercussions,” Nicole answered.

  “But those girls are dying. You were right. I just needed to be a little braver.”

  Kent pushed her hair from her face and cupped her small chin. “I promise you that we will get you somewhere safe.”

  “Where, though?” Delia asked. “We can’t afford another private school, and did you see how they beat that other transsexual girl to death at the public school in Virginia?’

  “Do you trust me?” Kent asked bluntly.

  The girl’s eyes scanned his features. “Yes.”

  “Then trust that I will find you somewhere safe.”

  Delia nodded. “It was Reggie and his thugs in the shower. I’m sure if I asked I can get the janitor to testify as well. He’s a nice guy. He’s got five grandkids and one is gay, so he’s all about the rainbow flag. The only reason he didn’t say anything is because I asked him not to.”

  “Alright,” Kent said. “You’ll need to press charges,” he explained as he nodded to Nicole, who was already on the pho
ne, most likely to the assistant district attorney. They needed to press charges, then apply for a search warrant to collect evidence that would hopefully link the boys to the murders.

  Delia nodded. “Whatever you need.”

  Kent turned to Nicole. “Alright, Reggie is the ring leader, so we need to put pressure on him first. I doubt if we can crack him, but we’ve got to try before they kill again.”

  “He’s not the ringleader, though,” Delia said.

  “What do you mean?” Kent asked.

  “Sure, Reggie is at the forefront of being a douche, but when they cornered me in the locker room, Reggie was going to let me go. He said that they’d scared me enough.”

  “Then what happened?” Nicole asked.

  “The water boy, what’s his face, Archie, pulled Reggie to the side and said ‘I really hope that it doesn’t come out.’ Then Reggie got all riled up and told them to strip me. Archie is the one who calls the shots. All those other kids that got bullied were enemies of Archie’s, not Reggie’s.”

  “Oh my,” Kent said. “We’ve got ourselves a manipulative sadist. Isn’t this job just the best?”

  * * *

  Nicole wished that she could feel the same as Kent, but with so many lives destroyed, she was having a hard time seeing the silver lining here.

  “The ADA is applying for all the paperwork—an arrest warrant for the boys for assault, and the search warrants.”

  Kent helped Delia up, but she was upset. “Could we please not tell anyone about this?”

  Nicole shook her head, “I’m sorry, but I have to. I’m a mandatory reporter.”

  “Perhaps, though, we could make an exception?” Kent said, putting his hand on Nicole’s shoulder. She removed it.

  “No. This is serious, Delia,” Nicole said. “You need help so that you don’t end up in this place again.”

  “But then people will look at me even weirder than they do,” Delia explained. “Now not only will I be that ‘queer’ shim, but that queer shim that tried to commit suicide.”

  They all sat down around the kitchen table. Delia’s father was still snoring away in the recliner, not even knowing that his daughter tried to commit suicide. Nicole doubted if he would even care. Now if his son had tried, that would be a different story.

  “What if Delia promised to go to a therapist every day for the next month, then weekly thereafter?” Kent asked. “It is the same protocol for a suicide attempt, just without the red tape?”

  Nicole frowned. The rules were there for a reason. But looking into Delia’s eyes, she found herself wavering. “But she needs to be checked out at the hospital.”

  “Does she?” Kent challenged. “She’s doing fine. Delia, do you have any spinal pain?”

  The girl shook her head, then rotated it around. “I’m good.”

  Nicole sighed. She was never going to win two against one. “I want reports from the therapist. If they are at all worried, we report it.”

  Delia jumped from her seat and launched into Nicole’s arms. Nicole’s family wasn’t exactly a huggy family, but she returned the gesture.

  “Now we are not going to leave until you promise us you aren’t going to hurt yourself,” Nicole said.

  “I promise, I promise, I promise,” Delia said, burying her head in the crook of Nicole’s neck. “And, Kent, you are going to set up the therapist appointment?”

  Kent took out his phone and dialed.

  Delia pulled back from the hug. “Did someone mention pizza?”

  * * *

  Kent leaned back in the kitchen chair. Delia was sitting in his lap with her head against his chest. It was like the girl had never gotten any healthy physical affection before, and couldn’t soak up enough.

  She toyed with the pineapple on her pizza slice before taking another bite. The girl had downed four large slices already. How frequently she was being fed was of serious concern. Nicole had opened cupboards around the kitchen and looked inside the fridge. There was nothing but beer and more beer.

  Neither Kent nor Delia had complained when Nicole had called child protective services for an inquiry into Delia’s father. No one wanted to see Delia removed from her home. They all knew how well Delia would probably fare in the system, but this type of situation went way beyond Kent and Nicole’s ability to fix. They needed the professionals to come in and put pressure on the father to step up as a parent.

  Kent rocked back and forth, feeling Delia’s heartbeat against his chest. Nicole looked over, seeming a little surprised, then grinned. When would she learn he really was great with kids?

  “What’s going on?” Kent asked.

  “Ruben is executing the search warrants for us,” Nicole said. “We should know within the hour or so.”

  * * *

  They both should have been with Ruben, of course, but neither had wanted to leave Delia alone in such a fragile state. Nicole had to suppress the urge to wash the dishes and vacuum the floor. But her contact at DSHS told her that everything had to be left as it was for the social worker who was coming in the morning.

  It nearly killed her, but Nicole obeyed. What to do until tomorrow, though? She’d made the decision not to take Delia to the hospital and report the suicide attempt, but that made Nicole responsible.

  Her only comfort was that Nicole didn’t really think that the hanging had been a tried-and-true suicide attempt. She thought that something more than just vanity had caused Delia to miscalculate the hangman’s equation.

  Nicole thought it was a much-needed cry for help, and Kent and she were answering it. “Would you like to spend the night at my house?” Nicole asked.

  She hated the thought of leaving Delia here in this dirty house overnight with a passed-out drunk.

  Delia nodded her head up and down.

  “Alright,” Nicole said. “We’re going to need to leave for a few hours, but we’ll be back for you later.”

  “I’ll be packed,” Delia said, rushing off to her room.

  “That was kind of you,” Kent said to Nicole.

  “Hey, I get along with kids’ fine myself.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “What do you mean they didn’t find anything?” Kent demanded. Nicole must have heard them wrong.

  Nicole shook her head as she drove them back to the precinct. “I’m telling you that they went to each of the boys’ homes and there was no evidence of the crimes. No blood, hair, or fibers. Nothing.”

  Kent frowned. It was exasperating, but given the new information that Archie was the ringleader, it made a little more sense. He wasn’t pumped up with testosterone and violence. He was cold and calculating, inflicting the most amount of pain on the girls and the boys. Kent’s guess was that the others were probably wanting out of the pack about now, but Archie wouldn’t let them. He couldn’t commit the crimes on his own. He didn’t have the physical prowess. He needed strong proxies to make his fantasies come to life.

  “Did they pull the guys financials?” Kent asked.

  “Yes, and let me tell you there are a lot of new shoe and clothes purchases,” Nicole said, showing Kent the file on her smartphone.

  “So they are sophisticated enough to have a rape kit. They bring fresh clothes and shoes along so they can change so they don’t track home any evidence. It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” He turned to Nicole. “Which means they dumped the contaminated shoes and clothes. Have Ruben search the dumpsters around the stadium of last night’s murder.”

  Nicole nodded and put the phone bud back into her ear.

  It was so frustrating knowing exactly who was committing the crime, but being unable to find the evidence to convict. This was why Kent so much preferred catching them in the act. Then—well, then, nature took its course.

  “Ruben is on it,” Nicole said, “but we’ve got a new problem.”

  “What?”

  “The boys weren’t brought in,” Nicole stated. Again, clearly confused.

  “But we got the arrest warra
nts for the assault on Delia,” Kent said. “Those warrants were independent of what we found with the search warrants.”

  “The judge, though, has a son who goes to St. Mary’s, and they have a playoff game tonight, so he won’t sign the warrant until after the game.”

  “They are playing tonight?” Kent asked. “I’m not huge football fan, but I thought they played once a week.”

  “They normally do, but it is high school and they are in the playoffs, so they are playing tonight.”

  “Did the judge not read the crime reports? They kill after the game. Not during it. Not before. Are there uniforms at the game waiting to snag them once the game is over?”

  Nicole put on her clicker, then spun the car around in a highly illegal U-turn. “Let’s do better.”

  * * *

  Ruben hated dumpster diving. He had thought he was at the point in his career where he was past it. Apparently not. It didn’t help that Joshua was in the other dumpster, having the time of his life.

  “It is amazing what people throw away,” Joshua said, holding up a leather belt with vomit on it.

  “Yes, it sure is,” Ruben said, then took a deep breath before he picked through the stadium’s dumpster again. There was plenty of puke, and enough half-eaten corn dogs and torn-apart foam fingers to fill a garbage dump.

  All of that, yet not one bloodstained shoe or shirt.

  “Nothing,” Ruben said, climbing out of the dumpster, then snapping his gloves off. This was the last of the twelve. “How about you?”

  “Besides an old Depeche Mode CD and a leopard-print lighter?”

  “I meant to do with the case?”

  “Oh, no, sorry,” Joshua said, climbing out of his dumpster. “Maybe they took the clothes home and dumped them there?

  “No, uniforms checked their trash, as well. Nothing.”

  “Where would they dump them?” Joshua asked, although Ruben was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question. Then the morgue attendant got a weird look on his face. “Unless they hid them in plain sight.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” Ruben stated.

  Joshua nodded to the homeless shelter across the street.