Sylver and Gold

by Michelle Larkin

  “Listen up, team,” Boyle commanded. “Suspect knows we’re here. Proceed with caution. I repeat, proceed with caution.”

  Reid didn’t know what to think now. She felt certain of one thing—the killer’s rage had hit a point of no return. He would go after someone. The question at this point was, who?

  She and the rest of the team had been outwitted. That much was clear. When it came right down to it, she knew she could never compete with the killer’s technological savvy. It was time to bring him on level ground where she could find better footing.

  “Drive,” Reid said, buckling her seat belt.

  “Where?” London asked.

  “To your parents’ house.”

  London was already peeling rubber.

  “What’s going on?” Boyle asked.

  But Reid didn’t answer. She was still hashing out the details of her new plan.

  “Answer me, Sylver.”

  London braked to a screeching stop in front of the Gold residence. “What now?” she asked, turning to Reid.

  “Get out of the car.” Reid said. “Take Mug with you.”

  “Sylver, what the hell is going on?” Boyle said again.

  “I said, get out. Now!” she barked when London made no move to exit the vehicle. “Gold’s with you now, Lieutenant.”

  London searched Reid’s face, her brown eyes full of questions, confusion, concern. Without a word, she nodded and stepped out into the dark night with Mug at her heels.

  * * *

  Reid scooted over to the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. Time to begin the next round of the game. She spoke directly to the killer, confident he was listening, “Matthew, I’m here. Whatever you were planning tonight, put a cork in it. I’m tired of chasing you. You win. By now, we’ve both realized my heart just isn’t in the game.” She wasn’t expecting a response and wasn’t surprised when none came.

  “I’m done pretending to be one of the good guys,” she went on. “You picked me because you know we’re the same. I’m sorry it took me so long to admit it.” She sighed, acutely aware that Boyle and the rest of the team were also listening. “We’re both damaged goods. You know I have scars on my body from what my grandmother did to me when I was a kid. I still have nightmares about her locking me up in that damn dog crate in the basement. You know what I used to think about when I was down there?” she asked. “I used to imagine how good it would feel to sink a knife in her chest and stare into her eyes as she took her last breath. But I’m sure you know by now that I never had the courage to do it. When she died a few years back, I knew I’d lost my chance. I hated myself for being such a coward.

  “You picked me to be on your team. I accept. To hell with the Good Guys—I’m ready to be who I really am. You and I will choose our victims together—people who deserve to die—and we’ll kill them as a team. I’ll have your back if you’ll have mine.”

  There. She’d said everything she believed the killer needed to hear. She took another deep breath and mentally reviewed her list of checkpoints. “Meet me on the game board, where you made the first move.” Seemed appropriate to end this nightmare on the playground where it all began. That location was especially poignant because she and the killer had both endured rotten childhoods. She knew the irony of joining up there wouldn’t be lost on the killer.

  “If I know you, Matthew, you’re somewhere close by. I’m ditching the cell phone, laptop, and earbud. You’ll be able to see them when I throw them out the window. All I’ll have with me is the collar Mug was wearing, so you, and you alone, can track me.”

  She lifted the cell phone and laptop from the passenger’s seat, withdrew her earbud, and chucked everything out the window. Satisfied her point was made, she put the car in gear and headed west toward Tadpole Playground.

  * * *

  Reid glanced at her watch: 10:23 p.m. She stood from the swing and tucked her coat more closely around herself, wishing she’d thought to bring her hat, scarf, and gloves. Felt like the temperature had dipped into the twenties.

  She’d been at the park for over an hour, silently wondering if she’d blown her cover somehow with the killer. Had he seen through her charade? Had she laid it on too thick? She thought back to London’s face when she’d ordered her out of the car. All part of the act, yet she still felt twinges of guilt. She’d be sure to apologize—assuming they all survived tonight’s events.

  Apologize? She never apologized to anyone. Ever. London’s lecture about taking accountability and saying sorry for the other person’s benefit sprang to mind. She had to admit, there was some truth to that. Maybe she’d send Mrs. Alinski one of those edible arrangements with a note. On second thought, food might not be such a hot idea. Maybe flowers. Everyone liked flowers, right? They smelled good, looked pretty, and made you smile. How could Mrs. Alinski hold a grudge with beautiful, good-smelling flowers? Reid shook her head. The rookie was definitely rubbing off on her.

  A voice called out from the darkness behind her. “Detective Sylver?”

  She turned, her hand over the gun in her coat pocket. She’d traded her usual firearm, a Glock 22, for the much smaller and more easily concealed Glock 27. “Here,” she said.

  “A man asked me to meet you and give you this.” Wrapped in winter garb from head to toe, a middle-aged woman with a beagle on a leash handed her a cell phone. “You okay?” the woman asked.

  “Fine,” Reid replied. “Are you?”

  Nodding, the woman looked at her quizzically before letting the dog lead her away.

  Reid looked down as the cell phone vibrated in her hands. She accepted the call and put the phone to her ear.

  “Your former boss and the rest of the team just left the Gold residence. They’re looking for you now.”

  She replied, “I ditched the car. It’ll take them a while to find it. But it’s only a matter of time before they figure out I’m here.”

  “I’ve already arranged for an Uber to pick you up. He’ll be there shortly.”

  Her heart raced. “Where should I tell the driver to take me?”

  “To the Gold residence. There’s a unit posted out front, but that won’t be an issue.”

  “Seems too risky. I thought the point here was not to get caught.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” he explained. “They’ll never expect us to return there tonight. It’s the perfect plan.”

  He was right. No one, including her, would expect such a brazen move.

  “How many times did adults turn their backs on you when you were a kid? They knew what your grandmother was doing. Am I right? But they didn’t lift a finger to stop it. Brad and Patricia Gold are no different. They turned their backs on their daughter. That kind of sin just can’t be forgiven.”

  “They need to pay,” she agreed.

  “And we’ll show up tonight to make sure they pay in full.”

  Instincts told her to follow his lead. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’m already inside the house,” he whispered. “The Golds are upstairs getting ready for bed. All you have to do is show up. I disarmed the security system and left the back door unlocked for you.”

  A minivan pulled up to the curb in front of the park entrance. “Uber’s here,” she announced, her heart pounding.

  “See you soon, partner.”

  Showtime. She looked in the front and back seats of the minivan, then asked the driver to pop the tailgate just to be safe. Satisfied no one was lurking inside, she climbed in and recited the Golds’ address from memory.

  They drove in silence. She wondered where London and the rest of the team were. Close, no doubt. And hopefully safe.

  Reid leaned forward, scanning the street signs as they drove. “Drop me here,” she instructed. They were still a block from the house. A patrol car was parked up ahead, just like the killer had said. She paid the driver, climbed out, and jogged across the street, ducking through several backyards until she came to the Golds’ eight-foot wooden fence.

 
; The killer had neglected to mention this formidable obstacle. It had admittedly been a while since she’d scaled something of this magnitude. On second thought, she’d never scaled an eight-foot fence. Was it even possible?

  Since the wooden slats were on the inside, there was nothing for her to grab hold of and use to hoist herself up. Best way to climb over, she knew, was to get a running start.

  Epic fail. She slid down the fence like a snail. Something told her London would’ve scaled this fence with minimal effort and would have done so with the grace of a leaping gazelle.

  After two more unsuccessful attempts, she activated the flashlight feature on the phone and started searching the ground nearby for a boulder or tree stump that would give her the height she needed. That’s when she spotted the step stool. It was propped against the fence a few feet away. There was a note taped to the top: Welcome to the party. Matthew

  She doused the flashlight, slipped the phone into her coat pocket, and finally ascended the wooden barrier, still sweating from her failed attempts. Good thing none of the guys were here to see this. She’d never hear the end of it.

  She stepped onto the grass and half expected a floodlight to announce the intrusion, but none came on. An expensive house like this would likely have state-of-the-art security with integrated outdoor lighting, which the killer had already proven himself adept at disarming.

  Alert to signs of an ambush—she wasn’t ruling out the possibility that the killer had figured out her scheme and was just playing along—she crossed the backyard in silence and ascended the porch steps. The back door was ajar, just as the killer had promised.

  * * *

  London tried to keep her mind focused as she ran. She and Boyle were in the lead with Marino, Boggs, O’Leary, and Garcia behind them. They’d had to abandon their unmarked cars and proceed on foot because traffic lights were malfunctioning all across the city, and traffic was gridlocked. She had a feeling that wasn’t simply a coincidence. The killer had no doubt hacked into the MassDOT’s traffic management system.

  Keeping a steady pace with Boyle beside her, she read the street sign up ahead. They were still at least two miles from her parents’ house. Her heart raced. There was no way they’d make it there in time to help Reid subdue the killer. It looked like Reid was on her own.

  * * *

  Reid stepped inside a dark living room and paused long enough to let her eyes adjust. Shadows of the Golds’ furniture fell into focus as she made her way through their house.

  “You made it.” The killer’s voice sounded over speakers nearby. “Come upstairs. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Apparently, he’d already started the party without her. She just hoped the Golds were still alive and unharmed.

  Reid found the staircase and quietly made her way to the second floor. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but she swore she could feel his eyes on her the whole way. When she reached the top, she paused to let her vision adjust once again. A glowing door crack up ahead caught her eye. She felt her way along the wall down a long hallway and pressed her ear to the door.

  “That’s the one,” the killer announced through another nearby speaker.

  With a deep breath, uncertain as to what awaited her on the other side, she pulled back from the door and withdrew the Glock.

  “You don’t trust me?” The killer sounded disappointed. “Understandable. It’ll take us both some time to adjust to this new partnership.”

  The gun felt reassuring in her hands. She didn’t care if the bastard could see her. It wouldn’t stop her from blowing a hole in his head at the first opportunity. She turned the knob and cracked the door open just enough to peek inside.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The killer was standing over a king-size canopy bed. Mr. and Mrs. Gold were bound and gagged with expensive-looking silk ties, just like Bill Sullivan. Reid inwardly sighed with relief. No blood. No visible injuries…yet.

  She pushed the door open the rest of the way with the toe of her shoe. The lights were low, but she could see Matthew clearly now. He was holding a knife against Mrs. Gold’s throat. The massive scar covering the right side of his face was even more disturbing in person. He was surprisingly short—something she hadn’t been expecting. He was at least a few inches shorter than her. She could’ve sworn the man Bill Sullivan showed her was much larger. But Matthew couldn’t be more than five four and probably weighed a buck twenty, if that. She was surprised he’d had the strength to move the bodies of his first two victims, let alone subdue two large men.

  “As you can see, our guests are prepped and ready. I’ve never been a fan of guns. Too fast, too easy, and not enough blood. Knives are my weapons of choice.” He nodded toward several leather satchels that were spread out neatly on the floor near the foot of the bed. Knives of every shape and size were evenly displayed. “I brought some of my collection to show you. Put the gun away, and pick your poison.”

  Mrs. Gold winced as he dug the knife deeper into her flesh. Blood trickled down her neck and onto the white sheets.

  The threat was clear. Put the gun down, or Mrs. Gold would die.

  Reid stepped across the room and set her firearm on the dresser.

  “Also, as a side note,” he went on, “I’ve taken the extra precaution of scheduling an email to be sent at midnight tonight. It’ll go out to everyone at the BPD. Can you guess what’s in it?”

  “A kick-ass pumpkin pie recipe?” she joked. The holidays were fast approaching.

  “Your secret. I took the liberty of attaching multiple audio and video files as proof.” He sighed. “I did this for the same reason you came in here with a gun—we don’t trust each other yet. Had to make sure you’re not trying to pull a fast one on me, pretending to be my partner just to turn around and haul me off to jail.”

  She hoped he was bluffing. Having an email fired off to the entire BPD revealing her aptitude for talking to the dead was definitely low on her bucket list. “Not to sound ungrateful,” she said, trying to change the subject, “but why do you get Mrs. Gold?”

  He regarded her. “I’m happy to trade. This was just the easiest way to get her husband to cooperate.”

  “If you don’t mind, I prefer her.”

  “This is your first time. It should be special.” He nodded in understanding. “Gil,” he called out. “Can you please confiscate Reid’s firearm?”

  Surprised to hear Gil’s name, she turned and watched as Gil stepped out from the master bathroom, head bowed.

  “You didn’t tell me there was a third wheel,” she said, doing her best to sound offended.

  “Relax. Gil’s not a true partner—not like I know you and I will be. He just does the heavy lifting. Think of Gil as a very strong, very obedient dog. He’s done everything I’ve ever asked of him since we were kids. He trusts me. He knows I’m the only person alive who has his back.”

  She hadn’t anticipated having to take down two grown men on her own. The little guy, she could handle. But the big guy looked, well, big. She needed to stall for more time so she could come up with a plan. “You know my life story, but I don’t know yours.” She squinted. “Who did that to your face?”

  “Show me your scars, and I’ll tell you.”

  Reid shrugged out of her coat and let it fall to the floor, glad to be rid of it if things turned physical. Without hesitation, she lifted her sweatshirt and held it aloft, turning in a full circle.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Cigarettes, huh?”

  “A few cigars. Some lighters. I swear she would’ve used a blowtorch if she’d had one.”

  He lifted his shirt to show her his life story. She wanted to look away but forced her gaze to remain steady. Instinct warned her this was some kind of test.

  She took a quiet breath. Matthew was studying her reaction. It seemed he was trying to outdo her scars with his.

  Instead of drawing back, she stepped toward him, reached out, and ran the tips of her fingers over his scars. His skin had
been assaulted repeatedly by the same iron that stole half his face. The scars were truly disfiguring on a level she had never seen and, before now, could not have imagined.

  “I don’t iron much,” he joked.

  “Wow,” she said, feigning wonder, admiration. “Make mine look like a sunburn. Who the hell did this to you?”

  “My foster parents.” He pulled his shirt back down. “My foster dad owned a funeral home. Taught me the trade growing up…and taught me a few other things he probably shouldn’t have. Sick bastard.” As he talked, he kept the knife firmly against Mrs. Gold’s neck. “But my foster mom was the bitch who burned me. Said it was my punishment for taking her husband’s attention away from her in the bedroom.”

  Reid found herself feeling sorry for Matthew. He’d obviously never had a chance as a kid. She believed everyone started out innocent and pure. What he’d turned into, the man she saw standing before her today, wasn’t entirely his fault. What had made them lead such different lives, she wondered? How’d she end up on one side of the law, and he, the other?

  She stood in place and searched for something to say but came up empty-handed. As if in answer to her dilemma, Kelly Clarkson’s song sprang up from the dark recesses of her mind like ill-timed tulips on a wintry day. “Well, you know what they say. What doesn’t kill us…”

  “Makes us stronger,” he finished. “I knew we’d get each other, Reid.” He lowered his shirt and gazed at her hands. “Go pick your blade.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

  “I already did.” She nodded at the knife in his hand. “I want that one.”

  He glanced at the knife.

  “It has a serrated blade,” she went on. “It’s the one you used to saw off Bill’s fingers and toes, right?”

  The Golds’ eyes widened in terror.

  “That’s very observant of you, Reid.”