by Mia Sheridan
Reed furrowed his brow, studying it. “It looks like a . . . leaf?”
“That’s about all I can tell too. Brands don’t create the most precise art, and no professional did this. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a marijuana leaf.” Dr. Westbrook placed Sadowski’s head back on the gurney, his sightless sockets once again aimed at the fluorescent lights above. He wondered if there was some way to remove that paint from his dead flesh or if Steven Sadowski would require a closed casket.
But that was not his department. His job was to find a killer and bring justice to this victim.
“I’ll send you a photograph of the brand for your files.”
After Reed had thanked the doctor and took leave of the examination room, he made his way through the building and outside to his city assigned vehicle. He sat behind the wheel with the window rolled down for a few minutes filling his lungs with fresh air. He looked down at his dress pants and button-down shirt, wishing he could take them off, ball them up, and throw them in the trash. Now. Death was a clingy bitch.
His mind conjured the picture of Steven Sadowski again, and the small brand on the back of his neck. A marijuana plant of all things? How the hell did that fit into this? Was there some sort of drug angle here? The killer had murdered the director, branded him with a leaf symbol, removed his eyes, sprayed black spray paint in the sockets, and then posed him. Reed knew there were very specific reasons for each of those acts.
Figure out what, and he might figure out who.
And why.
CHAPTER TEN
Reed used the silver knocker on the door of the historic white-brick home in Hyde Park, looking around at the peaceful tree-lined street as he waited. A couple walked by, a golden retriever on a leash trotting in front of them. They glanced up at Reed, the man raising his hand in greeting and the woman offering a smile. Reed nodded back. He knocked once more and waited another minute before turning and beginning to descend the steps.
“Hello?” Surprised, Reed turned to see a man had just swung the door open behind him.
“Gordon Draper?” he asked, climbing the steps again.
The man seated in the wheelchair with a pile of what looked like lettuce in his lap smiled, backing his wheelchair up slightly. “Yes. Sorry for the delay.” He gestured to the plants in his lap. “I was out back in the garden. What can I do for you?”
Reed unclipped his badge and held it up for the former director of Lakeside Hospital to see. Gordon Draper glanced at it, a worried expression creasing his already-lined face. “A detective with the CPD? Is something wrong?”
“Can we talk inside?”
“Tell me. Please,” he said, his face stricken.
Reed paused, but nodded. “The man who replaced you at Lakeside Hospital was murdered yesterday. I just have a few questions.”
Gordon Draper blinked at Reed, confusion skating over his expression, followed by what looked like . . . relief? Mr. Draper pulled in a big breath and then let it out slowly. “Please, come in.”
He followed the older man inside the home, first entering a spacious foyer that led into a sunny living room. Reed expected him to stop there, but he kept going, moving through an open doorway into a kitchen beyond. “I just need to put this arugula in the refrigerator,” he said. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll only be a moment.”
Reed sat down, glancing around at the room. There was plenty of space between the furnishings to allow for Gordon Draper’s wheelchair to move easily, but it didn’t appear as if it got much use other than as a pass-through. The pillows on the sofa were neatly placed, not a speck of lint or a dent where someone might sit on the couch or easy chairs. There were several photos in frames on the fireplace mantel, and Reed’s gaze zeroed in on one of a younger Gordon Draper, standing, though with the assistance of a cane. Despite the cane, he looked hearty and robust. Much different than the shrunken man who had greeted him at the door. Whatever physical malady he suffered, it had obviously progressively worsened over the years. He understood now what Liza had meant about the former director not being a likely threat to anyone.
“I’m sorry about that,” Gordon Draper said, his wheelchair making a low hum as he approached. He parked it across from where Reed was sitting. “My grandson Everett loved to work in the garden I planted out back when I was lighter on my feet.” A brief smile passed over his face before his expression shifted to sadness. “He . . . took his own life six months ago.” His forehead creased and his shoulders lowered with the words, but he pulled himself higher in his chair. “I’d let it get so out of hand . . . untended. Gardening is not the easiest of pastimes for a man in my predicament.” He waved a hand toward his thin legs. “I’ve been trying to bring it back. For Everett . . .” His voice faded away, and he seemed to lose himself for a moment before looking back at Reed. “My apologies. My reaction to you on the porch was born only of the fact that detectives have not come bearing good news in the recent past.”
Christ. Liza had said he’d experienced a recent death in the family. His heart went out to the old guy, not only broken of body, but by loss as well. He’d been clumsy in his approach, even if he’d had no way of knowing Mr. Draper’s specific circumstances. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Thank you. Not that the news of Mr. . . .” He shook his head, bringing one hand to his temple. “Forgive me, I’ve forgotten his name—"
“Sadowski. Steven Sadowski.”
“Yes, of course. Sadowski. I sat in on one of his interviews, but I never worked with him directly. I left a few days before he began. And murdered you say? How?”
Reed went through the circumstances of Steven Sadowski’s murder and Gordon Draper grimaced when he told him about the enucleation, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his wheelchair. “My God,” he murmured. “Inside the hospital? Do you have any suspects?”
“We don’t have any suspects as of now. But it appears that whoever placed the victim in the spot where he was discovered, was somewhat familiar with the hospital layout.”
Gordon Draper nodded. “I’d think so, if he made it past the cameras without so much as a glimpse of his shirtsleeve. No one’s that lucky. But why place the body in the hospital at all?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Any theories?”
Gordon Draper looked to the side, frowning, and appearing to consider the question.
“Anything, no matter how small, could help,” Reed said. He could always tell when someone was weighing whether or not to say something. Sometimes it turned out to be nothing, but sometimes . . .
Gordon Draper blew out a breath. “During his interview process, there was something in his file from years before . . .” His forehead creased again, and he looked deeply torn. “It turned out to be nothing.”
“What did, Mr. Draper? It could help find the person who committed a terrible, violent crime. The person who’s still out there now, free to harm others.”
“I’m afraid this might waste your time, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind when you ask who might have something against him.” He rubbed at his eye. “He had worked for another hospital before Lakeside and during that time, he’d been accused of watching the female patients as they changed in the showers and used the women’s facilities.”
“Watched? So . . . a peeping Tom?”
“That was the charge. Only it was unfounded. And later, the female patient who made the accusation recanted her story. She said she was angry with him because he’d confiscated her cigarettes.”
“She was a patient. What was her diagnosis?”
“An anxiety disorder, I believe. I can’t recall exactly.”
“If the patient recanted her accusation, why was it still in his file?”
Mr. Draper shrugged. “That’s the paperwork system. And why I hesitated to mention it. It’s always seemed unfair that even if an accusation turns out to be unfounded, the charge still remains part of your file.”
Reed sighed internally. It worked
the same way in the police department. Even if you fought a charge and were exonerated, the paper trail remained in your personnel file. Still . . . it might be worth checking up on. “Do you remember this patient’s name?”
“I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Ah, just one more question, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
“We matched the key card used to the time Mr. Sadowski appears on camera leaving the building. Although he was issued one in his name when he was hired, and that one was used the morning his body was placed inside the hospital, the key card he used the night before was registered to you.”
Mr. Draper’s brows furrowed and he looked away for a moment, as though considering. After a second, he shook his head. “I hate to say it, but the key card system there isn’t very well managed.”
Reed gave him a smile. “Dr. Nolan said the same thing.”
“Liza,” he said fondly. “Sweet girl. Very smart.” He blew out a breath. “Yes, the system could use better management, though I must admit as well, I’m not the most organized man. I lost at least a couple during my years at Lakeside and had to have new ones assigned. Old cards are supposed to be de-activated, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that never happened. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Sadowski found one of those old cards in the office he took over from me. Perhaps he used the cards interchangeably for some reason. Perhaps he mistook the one he found for his own. I don’t know. And I suppose it doesn’t make a detective’s job easier in light of what happened.”
Mr. Draper nudged a controller on the arm of his wheelchair, and began moving toward the hall. He gestured to Reed, indicating he should follow him. When they entered an office down the hall, the older man wheeled himself to a mahogany desk and pulled a drawer open, retrieving something from inside. He held up a white key card. “I found this one when I did a rare desk clean-out last year.” He wheeled himself back around the piece of furniture and handed the card to Reed. “Like, I said, it should have been de-activated, but who knows.” He shrugged. “I assume you’ll be at Lakeside again at some point during the investigation. If you could return it for me, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Reed slipped the key card into his pocket.
Mr. Draper tilted his head, peering up at him. “Can I say, Detective, that you look . . . familiar somehow? I’ve been trying to place it but . . . uh”—he made a small movement with his fingers—“my memory is not as good as it once was.”
Reed smiled, but it felt tight. He got that sometimes, and he always figured it was because at some point in time, the person trying to place him had seen his infamous father on one of the dozens of crime shows of which he’d been the subject. “I think I just have one of those faces,” Reed said, reaching out to shake Mr. Draper’s hand.
“Yes, well, perhaps that’s it,” the old man said, though his expression was dubious.
“I appreciate your time, sir. And, I’m sorry about your recent loss.”
“Thank you, Detective. That’s very kind.” He nodded to a picture of two smiling young boys on a bookshelf next to the door. “That was Everett,” he said, pointing to the younger of the two. Reed stepped closer, his gaze moving from the chubby, older boy with the wide grin to Everett. He looked slight and bookish, with his button-down shirt and glasses. His smile was shy, but his eyes were squinted as though he might be about to laugh.
Mr. Draper pointed at another photo on the shelf above, placed next to a pile of comic books. It was of a smiling couple, arms linked casually. “This was my son and daughter-in-law, the boys’ parents,” he said. “They died in a house fire when the boys had just started middle school. They came to live with me afterward.” He made a clicking sound in the back of his throat, turning his head to Reed. “I spent my career running programs to help people with mental and emotional issues, many of which were brought on by trauma. But I didn’t look closely enough at those in my own home, Detective. Those placed in my charge. I . . .” He shook his head, appearing older, defeated. “I failed.” His eyes met Reed’s again, and there was so much sorrowful regret, such raw emotion in his expression, that Reed almost looked away. “I failed,” he said again.
After Reed had thanked Gordon Draper again and left the old man sitting in his wheelchair in the doorway of his home, Reed started his car, hesitating as he gazed distractedly up at the house, a sort of . . . sympathetic melancholy pulsing through him. He stared at the front door, closed now, considering the old man’s regret. How difficult it must be to know you’d been a part of helping so many other families, and yet hadn’t recognized the needs of your own.
I failed. For some reason, the words rang in Reed’s head long after he’d pulled away from the curb, leaving the house far behind him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Reed glanced at the blinking screen on his dash, hitting the answer button, Ransom’s voice filling the interior of his SUV. “Update me.”
Reed first told him about his visit to Dr. Westbrook, Steven Sadowski’s eyes found stuffed down the front of his pants, and the possible marijuana leaf brand on the back of his neck.
“Say what?”
“I know. My only guess was that Sadowski was involved with drugs in some capacity?”
“That could have led to his murder?”
“Anything’s possible, I guess.”
“It’s also possible that the killer is just a big reggae music fan.”
Reed chuckled and then filled him in on his meeting with Gordon Draper, about the charge in Steven Sadowski’s file that had subsequently been dropped, and what the former Lakeside Hospital director had theorized as to the extra key card.
“So he probably just had two, registered in different names. He used one to leave the building, which could be in his car right now, wherever that is. And the killer used the other one, perhaps from Sadowski’s wallet.”
“I don’t have a better theory than that.”
Ransom sighed. “Thanks for nothing, Lakeside. Though, I have to say, I’m not surprised at the lax system. The times I dropped a prisoner off there when I was in uniform? I remember guards sitting around with their feet up, playing cards, even asleep on the job. Security is questionable. It only stands to reason that administrative practices are too.”
Reed wasn’t necessarily surprised either, even considering the high-risk nature of the prisoners who were housed there. He knew how outdated hospital systems could be, knew the budgets most of those facilities worked with. And of course, humans were fallible, he knew that too.
“The government can’t do shit right,” Ransom went on.
“The government hired you.”
“Man, even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
Reed chuckled. “True enough. So what about Steven Sadowski’s apartment? Did you learn anything from the neighbors?”
“Not much. There was no evidence that the man was involved with drugs. The old lady next door swears he never came home Monday night. She says she noticed because his cat was outside meowing to get in, and he never answered his door. She said the feline kept her up past midnight.”
“Okay, so he was either abducted somewhere between leaving the hospital but before he made it home. Or, he headed somewhere directly after work where he either randomly came in contact with the suspect, or the suspect followed him there.” Reed paused. “Although, I have to believe this was not a random targeting. Otherwise, what reason would the killer have to return him to his place of employment?”
“Agreed. I’ve requested video from several cameras on what would have been his likely route home, and video footage from the parking lot of his apartment building. I’ll start weeding through that tomorrow, see if there’s anything to work with. There was a laptop in his home that the digital guys will go through. We’ll see if he was doing anything online that might give us a lead. His phone records don’t indicate anything so far, and the last ping came back to Lakeside. Whether that means he turned it off, someone else d
id, or it died, I don’t know. You headed home?”
Reed squinted as his SUV went around a bend, lowering the visor so the intensity of the setting sun wasn’t directly in his eyes. “Nah, I’m headed to Josie’s.”
“Yeah?” Ransom said, warmth in his tone. As Reed’s partner, Ransom and his wife Cici had been out to the farmhouse for dinner on many occasions. In a job like theirs, bonds formed quickly, families naturally mingled and expanded. They never knew when they’d all need to come together. Plus, he and Ransom had just clicked from the get-go. He considered him a brother. “Tell her I said hi. Cope too.”
“I will. See you bright and early.”
“See ya.”
The farmhouse came into view and Reed felt a ribbon of calm wrap around him. That’s all it took—just the sight of the place seemed to do that. The picturesque white house with the wraparound porch where the sound of laughter rang from every corner. It was beautiful, and homey, and Josie and Zach had worked their asses off to bring it back to its original glory over the years. But mostly, love resided there.
Reed smiled as he stepped from the car. He heard a voice from the side yard and walked toward it. Josie.
“Get out of that basket, you filthy beast!” she scolded.
He walked around the side of the house to see Josie, her back to him, pinning something to the clothesline while a muddy puppy sat on top of a half-full laundry basket at her feet, a white piece of material in its mouth as he shook his head from side to side in a tearing motion. She finished pinning and bent down, picking the puppy up and kissing it, rubbing her cheek on its face as it licked her joyfully, before she placed it on the ground. “I don’t have any idea why I put up with you,” she said, and Reed could hear the adoration in her voice. The small dog let out a bark, caught sight of its tail, and chased it in a half-circle. Josie laughed and Reed did too. At the sound, she whipped around, bringing her hands to her mouth.
“Oh my God!” she said, her face breaking into a grin. “Reed!” She walked to him quickly, throwing her arms around him and squeezing. When she stepped back, she laughed, smoothing a piece of hair away from her face. There was a smear of dirt on her cheek from the puppy. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
