“I don’t think so,” Mehdi replied. Gone was the placating tone she’d adopted with Della. In its place was the same professional cadence Reed had always known her to employ, her eyes glazed slightly as she stared straight ahead.
Even with so much bubbling up within, so many things that he wanted to ask, find out about, Reed recognized the look enough to let them wait. Instead, he forced himself to remain quiet, giving the doctor the time she needed to process.
Which ended up being two of the longest minutes of his life.
“What do we know about Della Snow’s mother?” Mehdi asked.
Again, Reed felt the scorn he’d had a few moments before rising up, anger over his overlooking something so basic.
“Nothing yet,” Reed said. “She didn’t mention her the previous times we spoke.”
He let his voice trail off for a moment, considering adding some form of apology or confession, before letting it go. Doing so would only deepen the feeling of frustration he felt. He’d made a mistake, there was no use ducking it, especially with someone that was trained to spot such behavior.
“I’m going down now to ask the captain to dig into it,” Reed said.
Nodding slightly, Mehdi raised her attention to him. “And you?”
“I’m going to grab Officers McMichaels and Jacobs down there and make another site visit,” Reed said. “Right before you got here, we got an address on the person that might have bought the phone Della’s been using.”
As before, he didn’t bother filling in the rest, Mehdi not needing the full litany of information.
The look on her face even seemed to indicate she wouldn’t be all that interested in hearing it anyway.
“How would you like me to proceed?” she asked.
Releasing one hand from the chair, Reed extended it to the side, pushing out a short breath. “However you best see fit. We asked you here because you’re the professional.”
Sliding her top teeth over her bottom lip, Mehdi seemed to contemplate things for another moment.
“The girl is slipping into a secondary state,” she said. “Her subconscious is forcing its way to the surface, revealing things she likely wouldn’t say otherwise.”
Making no effort to pretend he had any idea exactly what the doctor was alluding to, Reed merely nodded.
“That’s why she hasn’t mentioned her mother before,” Mehdi said. Adjusting her attention, she looked at Reed and said, “Things like terror, anger, all the things she gave you, those are surface responses. Her brain’s way of fighting through the situation directly in front of her.
“It wasn’t until she was able to – as you put it – detach, that she got past those things. She’s no longer worried about being in a box or having a hurt hand. Her mind is starting to really sift through the rubble.”
Slowly, tiny bits of information began to align in Reed’s mind. Nowhere near enough to be the commonality he needed to bring things together, but it was a start.
“So you want to take another run at her,” Reed said.
Letting the top of her head dip to either side, Mehdi said, “Of sorts. Think of it like being in a dream. Once you become an active participant, it’s effectively over, right?”
“Right,” Reed agreed, “and you can never get back to where you were-“
“No matter how hard you try,” Mehdi said. “Exactly. That’s where she is now. What I’m hoping to do is kind of slide in on the periphery, maybe glean off a bit of information, and slip out before she even knows I’m there.”
Feeling his brows rise slightly, Reed leaned back a half-inch. The entire thing sounded a bit like the plot to the movie Inception, but he wasn’t about to challenge her on it.
Especially when they’d spent most of the night desperately seeking out her expertise in the first place.
“Okay,” Reed said. “Just, please remember her battery situation, and keep me posted on whatever you find.”
“Absolutely,” Mehdi said. Extending her hands, she pointed to the office around them, the whiteboard on the wall to their right. “May I set up in here? Make notes on the board?”
“Whatever you need,” Reed replied. “If I’m not around, Jackie is on the second floor and the captain is in his office.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Captain Grimes was left with two distinct tasks. The first was to dig into Della Snow’s life and pull out whatever he could on her mother. Last known address, maiden name, contact with her daughter, whatever existed. He was instructed to go to social media, the DMV, even the criminal record databases if need be.
More than once while making the request, Reed had felt the awkwardness of the situation. As a captain, these were things that were far below his station. The sort of thing Reed himself should be checking into, or handing off to the daytime crews to delve through.
There just wasn’t the time for such a process, though. Like with so much that had transpired throughout the night, everybody was being forced into a role far beyond what they were accustomed to.
Right now, Dr. Mehdi was on the third floor plotting her next conversation with Della. Greene and Gilchrist were with Earl and his team, all wrapping up a scene that was far beyond their jurisdiction. McMichaels and Jacobs had been called in on their night off.
And Reed and Billie were flying around the western part of Columbus, always seemingly one step behind whoever was pulling the strings on things, searching for a young woman trapped in a box.
Hardly the time to be getting tripped up on protocol.
The second request that was made of the captain was that he call ahead to the 19th and let them know that Reed and his team were heading that way.
The lights inside Bingham’s Drugs were blacked out as Reed flew by, the owner having turned them off and headed back home in the wake of their previous meeting. Giving it nothing more than a glance as he tore past, Reed checked the directions on the screen of his GPS, once again following the route that was laid out before him.
In the rearview, he could see the enormous lamps of McMichaels’s truck just a few lengths behind him, the oversized machine fishtailing through every turn to keep up.
With his jaw set, Billie again pressed tight into his shoulder, Reed pulled his cell phone over onto his lap. Switching glances between the road and the screen, he bypassed the call log and went into his address book, scrolling to what he needed and hitting send.
A moment later, it began to ring.
An instant after that, it was picked up.
“Greene.”
“Officer, this Mattox, calling to see what you’ve got over there,” Reed said. In the background, he could hear faint voices interspersed with an occasional van door slamming shut.
“Earl and his guys are wrapping things up,” Greene said. “I’m guessing the captain told you about the print?”
Once more, the name Paul Klauss surfaced in Reed’s mind, the last half sounding vaguely familiar, but nothing more. “Yeah, he did. Same print as the first scene.”
“That’s what I heard,” Greene replied, not bothering to point out that there was no way that was a coincidence.
“Anything else?” Reed asked.
Wedging the phone down between his thighs, Reed used both hands to maneuver the car through an intersection. Moving at a speed that was much greater than anybody would ever want to, he felt the passenger side seem to rise up for an instant, the weight inside the car unequally balanced as they careened forward.
In the back, Billie slid against the driver’s side door, the biting whine of the tires finding their way to Reed’s ears.
For what felt like an eternity, they seemed to balance there, coasting through the deserted crossroads, before leveling out, both partners bouncing slightly in their seat.
“Not a thing,” Grimes said. “Place was wiped clean.”
“What about the charges?” Reed asked.
“Standard fare,” Greene said. “Just enough juice to create a show, but they weren’t even
actually attached to the door. That was hooked to a magnet at the top with a timed release.”
His eyes narrowing, Reed cast a glance to the GPS. Sure he was on the right path, he thought back to the scene in Grove City, remembering Billie alerting on the explosives and the way they had gone off as the group inched closer.
In the moment, he had missed it. The charges had been planted to create a diversion, to present an obvious solution to keep them from looking too deep at the real one.
Just like most everything else that had occurred throughout the night.
“Talked to the owner,” Greene said, “or, at least the prick that’s fronting the subdivision.”
Just from the acrimony in his voice and the word choice, Reed could tell it hadn’t gone well. “Place is still unspoken for?”
“Most of them are,” Greene said, “which made the guy a real peach, especially at this hour.”
A small snort lifted Reed’s head. Nothing more.
“Only a handful have been purchased thus far,” Greene said, “sounds like they’ve been sitting a while. Guy says he’s losing his ass on it.”
Again, Reed felt his head bob up and down slightly, this time as he chewed on the new information.
It wouldn’t have been hard for someone to get wind of the development. They could have watched the papers, scoured the online ads, and eventually, they would have seen someone that was desperate to unload real estate.
From there, nothing more than a bit of scouting, and he had himself a perfect relay point.
And a nice out-of-the-way spot to keep Reed and his team busy while Della Snow used precious oxygen.
“Dammit,” Reed muttered. In front of him, the needle on the speedometer went just past forty, the bright orange stripe standing out against the dark background. Keeping it pinned there for several blocks, Reed slowed just enough to make his final turn, following the directions on the screen beside him, having cut off the automated voice long before.
Few things in life managed to grate on his nerves like being scolded by an automaton on a power trip.
“Alright,” Reed managed, his mind already starting to shift again. This time it was moving from the scene in Grove City toward whatever they were about to find, hoping this time that it would yield something useful.
Or, really, anything more than another partial thumbprint from Paul Klauss.
“Gilchrist is talking to the neighbors right now,” Greene said. “Older couple with an unprotected network, looks like that’s where the wireless was coming from.”
Reed had known when he left the house that everything there was a longshot, but that didn’t keep the same bitterness from spiking within him. Continuing to let his head move up and down in the same angry bob, he flicked his gaze to the screen beside him, the bright blue dot denoting the end of their trip growing mercifully closer.
“Alright,” Reed repeated, “thanks for doing all that. If you could, tell Earl we’re en route again, might have another one soon enough.”
“Will do,” Greene replied. “You need us to join?”
Easing back on the gas, Reed again peered into the rearview mirror. “Not right now. McMichaels and Jacobs were called in, they’re here with me. If you guys can circle back to the precinct though, we’ve got a lot of moving parts on this, Grimes might be able to use you.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The address provided by Paul Bingham was a single-story house on the end of a small side street on the outer edge of Hilliard. As the last of the western suburbs before the city gave way to unincorporated land, the lots were much larger than in Franklinton, the parcels dotted with mature trees.
Gone were any cars parked along the road, all sitting in expansive driveways beneath basketball hoops or carports. Also missing was any overhead lights, the thoroughfare they were on much closer to what Reed would call a road than a street.
Streets had curbs, and sewers, and sidewalks. This had nothing of the sort.
Ignoring house numbers or owner names stenciled on mailboxes, Reed followed the instructions of the GPS. Killing the flashers on the front of his sedan, he rolled to the far end, his headlights reflecting off the dense forestation that marked the end of it.
“What do you make of this?” Reed whispered, a tiny whine from Billie the only response as he hooked a right into the last driveway. Easing forward just far enough that his rear bumper was out of the street, he pushed the gearshift into park and pulled the keys, leaving the lights on. Remaining behind the wheel for a moment, he allowed the officers to pull in behind him, studying the small house.
The structure was made entirely from brick that was once probably bright red but had receded to something closer to pink through years of aging and exposure to the elements. A plain wooden door was positioned right-center of the structure, a pair of windows on one side offset by a single one on the other.
At the end was a one car garage, the driveway he was parked on forming a straight line from the street to the entry.
No extra space to either side for additional parking. Certainly, no path leading around to the back.
Much like the rest of the structure, the garage door looked like it had been victim to some wear, long stripes of rust stretched vertically over the white metal. On the roof, patches of mold could be seen on the grey shingles.
All of that Reed took in and filed away, his focus more drawn to the far corner window.
And the faint light that could just be seen peeking through the curtains hanging over it.
Otherwise, the place looked like it hadn’t been touched in days. There were no cars parked anywhere, no toys or lawn care items strewn about outside. Not even any landscaping to speak of, the lawn bearing the ragged appearance of one that still hadn’t been mowed in the new season.
Sitting inside the confines of the car, Reed couldn’t help but feel his body reacting to the scene before him. There was no way finding Della Snow could be as easy as tracking down an errant credit card receipt, but if ever someone was looking for a place to dig a hole without much fear of being seen, this was it.
Casting a glance to the woods pressed tight next to the home, Reed couldn’t help but wonder how far they spread, the opportunities for places she could be tucked away almost endless.
Flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror, Reed saw McMichaels and Jacobs both remaining in their truck, each waiting for his lead. Reaching out for the radio mounted under his dash, his hand made it as far as the microphone before pulling back, realizing they were in McMichaels’s truck instead of their usual squad car.
Taking up his cell phone instead, he dialed Jacobs, putting it on speaker and balancing it across his thigh.
It was answered after just a single ring.
“Yeah,” Jacobs said, his voice so short it sounded closer to yut.
“How you guys read it?”
“You see that light in the corner window?” Jacobs asked.
Again, Reed focused his attention on the glow, the way it seemed to ebb and wane just slightly, as if candlelight instead of a steady bulb. “Yeah.”
“Looks to be the only sign of life at all,” Jacobs said.
“It does,” Reed agreed. “Also looks like a lot of woods stretched out around here.”
“You think maybe she’s in there?” McMichaels asked.
Leaving the question for a moment, Reed leaned across the middle console. Stretching toward the passenger's footwell, he felt the gear shift jab into his ribs, ignoring it as he got his fingertips onto the plastic bag he had taken from Della Snow’s apartment and drew it near.
Rising back up to full height, he grasped the top in either hand, ready to pull it open like a bag of potato chips.
“I don’t know,” Reed said. “But we’ve got to take a look.”
There was a pause on the other end, both men seemingly right where Reed was, visually inspecting the property, trying to determine the best way to proceed.
“Billie?” McMichaels asked.
> “Yeah,” Reed said, again glancing down at the bag in his lap. “I have some socks that Earl bagged up for me at Della’s apartment. Should be a good strong scent for her.”
Again, there was silence, the two considering things anew.
“Okay,” Jacobs said, “you want us to stand down while she searches, or move on that light right now?”
Reed’s every thought was for them to go immediately. For all four to go charging through the door, tearing their way from room to room, scraping away any evidence that might be present.
At the same time, he had to slow down, to remember that right now, all they had was an address from a credit card, something that could easily be forged. He also had to bear in mind that the last place they had been drawn to had included blast charges.
Just because those weren’t set to create any real damage didn’t mean the next ones wouldn’t be.
“We’ll go to the front door with you,” Reed said. “Maybe the light is nothing more than a homeowner watching late night television or something.”
Reed didn’t believe the words, even as they left his lips. He also knew the officers probably didn’t either.
Though there was nothing any of them could do about it. The case was bad enough without the added potential of the media scrutiny that would come with them storming the home of innocent citizens.
“Okay,” Jacobs said.
It was clear from his tone that he felt the same way about things Reed did.
“If nobody’s home,” Reed said, “I’ll have Billie make a pass through, make sure there’s nothing suspicious like last time, and then we’ll leave you guys to it. That work?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
The small concrete pad in front of the main door was no more than three feet in either direction. With room enough for just one person, it was decided that Jacobs would be the one to breach, all initial attempts at knocking and announcing their presence going unanswered.
Standing with his heels on the back edge of the landing, Jacobs bounced lightly in place, his weight balanced, ready to lunge forward.
Manning the left corner behind him was McMichaels, his service weapon out, gripped in both hands and aimed toward the ground in front of him. On the opposite corner was Reed, his own Glock at the ready, Billie by his side.
The Scorekeeper Page 15
