Erin Solomon Mysteries, Books 1 - 5

by Jen Blood

  The last time I’d seen Sally, I was dropping Sarah Jennings off so we could sneak her out of state and onto her new life far, far from Justice, Kentucky. I was three sheets to the wind and looking for a fix at the time. I smiled back at her.

  “Four long years,” I said.

  “Good for you.” She grinned, shaking her head. “I always said you’d be one hell of a catch if you could just get your head out of your ass and dry out a little.”

  “Well... I dried out. I don’t know about the rest of it.”

  Glenda the Screamer started up again. I crouched beside her. “We’re going to try to get you out of here, Glenda,” I said. “Can you try and stay calm for a little while? Just a little longer?”

  Silent tears tracked down her face. She slid to the ground, blessedly quiet for the moment. I straightened and looked at Sally.

  “If you can try and keep her quiet, that will help things as much as anything.”

  “I’ll do my best. That mean you’ve got a plan?”

  “Not in the traditional sense of the word,” I said. “I welcome suggestions.”

  She nodded toward the tweakers in the corner. “You might want to check in with Biggie over there—the tall guy. He’s a mess from the word go, but he’s got a good heart. Has three kids I know of, all different mothers; another couple pregnancies I took care of. Hooked on everything under the sun. Couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. However,” she looked at me significantly and lowered her voice, “I do believe him and his buddy Riley are working on tunneling us out of here.”

  It took me a minute to figure out whether she was kidding. I shook my head. “We’ve got two hours. You couldn’t have mentioned this sooner?”

  “And interrupt our reunion?”

  “Right. You mind doing a little introduction? I don’t want to freak the guy out.”

  She told Glenda she’d be right back, then led me over to Biggie and Riley, both of them still up against the wall, their backs to the group. For the first time, I realized there was a significant difference between them and the rest of us:

  Neither of them were bound.

  Biggie jerked around when Sally said his name, his body hunched in on itself. I fought between empathy and disgust. My drug of choice was always cocaine: fast acting, fun, toxically addictive, and—comparatively speaking—free of physical symptoms once I finally got clean. I’d seen buddies try to kick meth or heroin; it was the major reason I’d never gone down those roads in the first place.

  “Biggie, this here’s an old friend of mine,” Sally said. “I want you to let him help you, all right? He’s good people.”

  She made hasty introductions and then left us to it since Glenda was starting up again. When she was gone, Biggie looked at me shyly.

  “We was thinking maybe we’d tunnel out,” he said. Beads of sweat rained down his face, his body shaking so hard his words came out in frenzied jerks. Beyond the physical manifestations of addiction and withdrawal, however, I saw a glimmer of intelligence from surprisingly soft blue eyes.

  “How? The walls are cement…”

  “The floor ain’t, though,” he said with a pained smile. He nodded toward their corner. “There’s another room behind that wall. There’s gotta be a way out there, right? Nobody makes a room that ain’t got no doors.”

  “You have an idea what we should dig with?”

  “Ground’s soft—it don’t take much. I been usin’ my hands. Riley’s got a spoon he found over there.”

  “I can’t help noticing you guys aren’t tied.”

  He smiled at that, producing a zip tie from his pocket. He fastened it around his wrists, pulling it tight with his teeth. A second later, I watched as he wriggled out of the tie again and it fell to the ground. When he showed me his hands with a flourish, there was blood dripping down his left thumb. I caught a glimpse of bone shining through, and my stomach turned.

  He caught the look. “You ever come off meth?” he asked. I noticed that his teeth were jagged, several missing, when he smiled again.

  “No—just coke,” I said.

  He laughed, still racked with tremors. “That ain’t nothin’. You come off something like this and you know: this here,” he nodded toward his hand, “is a relief, compared to the pain in my gut and in my head; the bugs crawling under my skin. A distraction. Now, have a look.”

  He nudged Riley, who stepped aside. Sure enough, they’d managed to make a dent in the dirt floor. Not a big dent—but if two tweakers in the throes of withdrawal could get this far in a couple of hours, we might actually stand a chance.

  “I need to get out of these,” I said, nodding over my shoulder to indicate my own hands. I had no idea whether we were being monitored in here, but it seemed likely since our captors had gone to the trouble of providing us some light. In all likelihood, Big Brother was watching. To compensate, I tried to make sure we were well concealed by the wall of bodies around us, and kept my voice low. “You mind giving me a hand?”

  “You okay with a little pain? Shouldn’t hurt too bad, but it might cut a little.”

  I lowered my voice further. “Do what you need to do.”

  He grinned. “Yes, sir. I reckon we got ourselves an escape plan.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Solomon

  01:50:22

  The party had gotten even bigger by the time Juarez and I got back to headquarters, with another batch from the National Guard and a few more spooks, everyone now gathered in the school gymnasium to accommodate the swelling numbers. So far, we’d learned that the creepy post-modern bar in the woods was listed as being owned by something called J. Enterprises, out of San Francisco. J. Enterprises, sadly, was a dummy corporation, and everyone was having a hell of a time figuring out how to connect a name with that dummy corporation.

  Once we’d gotten that disheartening news, Blaze pulled Juarez and me aside.

  “A package was left on the front steps at the police station,” she said, her eyes steady on me. “Deputy Holloway just discovered it. It’s a tape.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “What kind of tape?”

  “It’s from Barnel,” she said. “In it, he makes very vague references to whatever he has in store at midnight. He also has messages from those he’s holding hostage.”

  “Diggs is on the tape?” I asked.

  “He is,” Blaze confirmed. “I need you to take a look—we think he may have put some coded information in there for you.”

  I nodded blindly. She led me to the little A/V cubicle I’d been at before, and set me up with the digital tape. This time I wasn’t alone, though: Blaze, Juarez, Agent Keith, the Technology Nazi, and another handful of agents stood by, watching alongside me.

  The tape started with Barnel, talking about everything he was planning: the end of the world at midnight; holding everyone accountable for their sins; taking his family out with him. Your garden-variety psychotic ramblings, in other words.

  “This is not suicide,” he said, looking into the camera with sweat running down his face and an odd, glazed look to his eye. “This is a revolutionary act. We won’t be held hostage by the devil and his minions no more.”

  He signed off. A whole parade of others were next: Casey, Danny, Wyatt Durham, along with a slew of faces I didn’t recognize. Each read from a prepared statement held off camera, detailing their past indiscretions. Most everyone looked like they’d been through hell already—bruised, bloodied, out-and-out terrified. George Durham came on and I cursed softly, realizing I’d been right: he never made it to his mountain hideaway.

  And then, Diggs appeared.

  I pulled my legs up into the chair, all but curling into myself when he looked at the camera. He read the words with dead eyes and no inflection in his voice, using a steady monotone that sounded beyond wrong coming from him. He looked exhausted. The tape switched off; half a second later, it came back on. Diggs was still there. The dead eyes were gone suddenly, replaced with something raw and sad and so deeply person
al that I wanted to shut it off until I was alone. I fought the urge and remained there, my attention riveted to the screen.

  “Since this is apparently my last will and testament...” he began. I steeled myself against an onslaught of emotion, managing to hold it together until the end, when he looked into the camera with those sparkling blue eyes and smiled at me.

  “You’re an amazing woman... even if your best record is Original Soul. you’ve made my life better in a thousand ways. I’ve always loved you, Sol. Even when it wasn’t smart. Even when I had no right. I think I always will.”

  No one said anything for a respectful few seconds after the tape ended, while I sat there trying to get a grip, fighting a losing battle against the tears tracking down my cheeks and a pain in my chest I knew wouldn’t go away until I had Diggs back.

  Finally, I cleared my throat. “Original Soul,” I said. “That’s not my favorite record—I don’t even know who recorded it. That’s his clue.”

  It took us thirty seconds on Google to track down what he was trying to tell me:

  Original Soul: the 2004 debut album by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.

  “Jenny Burkett,” I said, as soon as I saw the band’s name. I turned around in my seat, pulse racing, heart jumping, ready to lead the charge.

  Juarez looked at me blankly. “How do you get there?”

  “Grace Potter—Grace is the Burkett’s dog,” I said. “Roger’s dead… Jenny disappeared. J. Enterprises is out of San Francisco. Mae told us early on that Roger brought Jenny out here from San Francisco. She’s in on it. I’m sure of it.”

  Blaze gave the word and a dozen agents sprang into action.

  I turned off the TV, still frozen on Diggs’ face.

  “You okay?” Juarez asked. We sat together, alone in the darkened room now.

  I nodded. He waited for me to give him something—I could all but see him doing it. Waiting for me to break down, share my thoughts, give him something to hold onto to make it seem like we were even remotely in this together. I took a deep breath, and forced it out slowly.

  “I kissed Diggs the other night,” I said. I looked at him. He didn’t even look surprised, a flicker of anger in his eyes the only trace of emotion I could see.

  “I mean—technically, he kissed me,” I continued awkwardly. “But there was a second when I kissed him back.” I looked down, tracing the scar on my wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on it happening…”

  “I know that,” he said. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his head tilted a little. There was something naked, soulful, about his dark eyes when they met mine. The anger was gone.

  “I was fifteen when I met Lucia,” he said. It wasn’t what I’d expected—Lucia was Juarez’s first wife. His only wife. I’d been curious about her, but had never asked. It seemed too personal, somehow. And what woman really wants to talk to her boyfriend about the lost love of his life?

  “It was one of those instant connections that you read about sometimes, with her,” he said. “We met, and…that was all. We dated, we fell in love, we married. So easy.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He smiled a little—that sad, dark smile he didn’t really show the world. The one I was just getting to know. “I know. I am, too. She was killed, and it was like all the light went out of my life, for a long time. But we had something…important. As though, when I was with her, all the planets were aligned. Everything was exactly as it should be.”

  “It’s not like that with you and me,” I said quietly. He shook his head.

  “I didn’t realize, when we first met,” he said. “I should have—the two of you denied it enough. I should have understood then.”

  “Understood what?”

  He smiled. Rolled his eyes. “That your planets were already aligned.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but one look from him stopped me. What was the point arguing something I didn’t even believe anymore?

  “You saved my life this year,” I said instead. I looked at my hand again, studying that angry white line. I wiped my eyes, which continued to leak copiously. “I mean—beyond the thing where you actually found Diggs and me and dragged us out of the woods last summer. I’ve really…” I stopped and wiped my eyes again. I was dangerously close to getting maudlin. “Well, hell.” I did a little deep breathing since words were obviously failing me, and eventually gave up trying for grace and eloquence. Clearly they were beyond me. “You know, I think Blaze has a thing for you.”

  I don’t know what I expected him to do with that revelation, but it wasn’t laugh at me. That’s exactly what he did, though. “You mean Allie?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Allie,” I said, indignant. “That’s so hard to believe? I haven’t seen a ring on her finger.”

  “That’s because she’s single,” he said. “I’m not really her type, though.”

  “She doesn’t like tall, gorgeous, sensitive guys? You sure seem like her type when you two are in your little huddles together.”

  He brushed the tears from my eyes and shook his head at me, as though I were the most hopeless idiot on the planet. “I just mean, you’re more Allie’s type than I am,” he clarified.

  “Oh.” I took a very long, very deep breath, then let it out very slowly. I sat back and looked at him. “So…this is it, huh?”

  “I think so. You don’t?”

  I thought of Diggs again—hopeless Diggs, with his temper and his past and his passion and his ability to push every friggin’ button I had. Then, I looked at Juarez: stable, sensitive, heroic. And gorgeous. I was an idiot.

  I shook my head. “No, you’re right.”

  He stood, leaned in, and kissed me on the cheek. Then, he pulled me to my feet. “We should go see if there have been any developments. It could be a good lead you’ve given us—Jenny Burkett and the California connection. We could be closing in on something.”

  “Do you mind if I go back to the hotel for a while, actually?”

  “Now?”

  “I want to look through Diggs’ room again. Check on the dogs. Get a little breathing room. Just for a few minutes.”

  “Yeah, of course,” he agreed. “I’ll just let Allie know and we can go.”

  “No,” I said. “Stay here. If you feel like I need an escort, get someone else—you’re too valuable to be playing bodyguard right now.”

  He looked at me. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He hesitated, his eyes dark with sympathy. “We’ll find him, Erin,” he said. It was the first time he’d said it since this whole thing began. I looked at the clock: 10:35. An hour and twenty-five minutes.

  “Yeah,” I said, with a slightly embittered laugh. “Because things always work out that well.”

  “Not always,” he agreed. “But sometimes, they do.”

  01:05:42

  Agent Keith took me back to the hotel while Juarez retreated to the war room with Blaze and the others. When I got to our room, I grabbed Einstein and Grace and then lingered for just a second, staring at the rumpled sheets. Jack’s clothes hung neatly in the closet. There wasn’t time to cry about it, but Diggs was wrong if he thought Jack Juarez was just an easy way for me to deal with life without him. It had definitely run deeper than that.

  With that uncomfortable realization behind me, I took Stein and Grace up to Diggs’ room to enact the only plan I’d been able to come up with thus far.

  The glass from Diggs’ broken mirror had been cleaned up, but otherwise his room was in the same condition it had been when I’d left: overturned bureau, dirty clothes, blood on the carpet…and no Diggs. I went in with Einstein and Grace, closed the door behind me, and went straight for the window. I already knew what I was there for—I’d known the moment Blaze had said a business called J. Enterprises owned that bar in the Kentucky woods.

  J. just happened to be the initial my father had gone by as a kid, years and years ago. It also happened to be the initial carved into th
e chests of more than a dozen girls brutally hunted and murdered in northern Maine over the past forty years.

  It was probably just coincidence that now a shell corporation with that very initial was tied to a rash of kidnappings, murders, and a potential mass murder-slash-suicide with the potential to rock the nation.

  Probably. But, Mitch Cameron had been here when Diggs and I flew into Kentucky. He claimed it was to check up on me, but what if he had other business in the state? I thought of his words just before he shot Max Richards point blank last summer: You’ve become a liability, Max. We warned you about this when you left the fold…

  I had no idea what “fold” he was talking about. And maybe I was just reeling with fatigue and hunger and the sting of just being dumped for a guy who would probably end up dead before the night was out, but this seemed like a lead to pursue. If my father and J. and Mitch Cameron and the Payson Church were somehow tied into J. Enterprises and the clusterfuck surrounding Jesup Barnel, I planned on getting to the bottom of that connection.

  I took a roll of masking tape from my bag and went to the picture window along the far wall of the room. I looked at Einstein, now up on Diggs’ bed beside Grace.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” I said. I imagined Diggs’ reaction to all this. He’d never let me hear the end of it. I didn’t have a bat signal, though, and I was out of good ideas.

  I tore off three pieces of masking tape and taped them into the shape of an awkward, block J on the inside of the window. Then, I took the MagLite I’d taken from Juarez’s room and trained it on the tape, so anyone outside would be sure to see. If it worked for Scully, why shouldn’t it work for me?

  Grace hopped off the bed and trotted over to me, tail wagging.

  “Don’t start,” I said. “If you’d told me when this whole thing started that your owner was the one behind it, we might not be in this mess.”

  Grace whined mournfully, which I took to mean she was sorry for dropping the ball. Or else she was hungry. Either way, I scratched her behind the ears and went to the bed with her.