Where the Truth Lives

by Mia Sheridan

  The first officer on the scene was standing at the back of the vehicle in the space next to the body, and as Reed and Ransom approached him, he nodded at them. “Detectives.”

  “Brendan, good to see you.”

  He fidgeted nervously with his hat held in his hand and shifted from one foot to the other. “That’s some sick shit, huh?” he asked, jerking his head backward to indicate the body.

  “Yeah. It is. The owner of this vehicle found him?”

  Brendan nodded. “She’s over there with Marsh and a few other guys who showed up after we did. They’re from a different district.” Reed peered over the red SUV to see a woman in her late twenties or early thirties in leggings and a long sweatshirt, sitting on a concrete half wall with mascara streaked down her cheeks. Several officers stood around her and she was nodding at something Marsh said.

  A disturbance near the entrance of the garage caught their attention. Looked like news people arguing with the officers who had the area blocked off.

  Reed looked back at Brendan. “Thanks. The coroner should be here soon to pick up the body.”

  They walked over to the small group and Reed introduced himself to the woman who stood to shake his hand. Her grip was limp and she looked as though she was at risk of falling over. “Sabrina McPhee.”

  “Go ahead and have a seat where you were, ma’am.” He turned to Marsh. “Would you mind grabbing her a bottle of water from over there?” Ransom asked, pointing to a well-lit elevator bank with a couple of vending machines. He took a few dollar bills from his pocket and handed them to Marsh.

  “Sure thing,” Marsh said, heading to the machines. The other two officers walked over to stand with Brendan.

  “Can you tell us what happened this morning, ma’am?”

  Marsh came back and handed her the bottle of water and she gave him a thin smile, twisting off the cap and taking a couple of big gulps. “Thank you,” she said to Marsh as he, too, went to join the other officers.

  “Uh, sorry, um. Well, there’s not a lot to tell. I came down the elevator to leave for my studio like I do every morning. Same time. I’m a painter. I have an art studio about ten minutes from here. I’m self-employed but I try to be very regimented about when I work, otherwise”—she let out a small laugh that sounded a hint away from hysteria—“it’s too easy to let the day get away from me without getting any work done.” She looked between them and they nodded. “Anyway, I was holding a mug of coffee and a bag with some supplies. I walked around my car to the driver’s seat and that’s when I spotted . . . him.” She took another drink of the water. “Scared me half to death. I screamed and dropped my coffee.” She pointed to a spot near the back of her parked vehicle where there was still a large, dark stain on the concrete. “I ran back to the elevators and called 911 from right over there.” She indicated the same spot where Marsh had just bought the bottle of water.

  “Was there anyone else in the garage? Anything that seemed out of place?” Ransom asked.

  “You mean other than the zombie corpse waiting for me next to my car?” She shuddered, her hands wrapping around the half-empty water bottle as if she was holding on to it like a lifeline. “No.”

  Reed checked over his shoulder at her vehicle. “Is that an assigned spot?”

  “Yes. All the spots on this floor are assigned to residents of the building. Visitors and delivery people park on the lower level.”

  “I hate to ask you this, but did you take a really good look at the victim? You’re sure you didn’t recognize him?”

  “I got a pretty good look. I sort of froze for a minute at first, you know? And no, I mean, his eyes . . . they . . .” She shook her head and for a minute Reed thought she might cry. But she pulled her shoulders up and continued. “With his eyes . . . missing, and the black stuff on his face, it’s hard to tell, but offhand, no, I didn’t recognize him. We have a guy who works in the garage doing maintenance and whatnot, but he’s an Indian man named Arjun.”

  Reed could agree the man propped against the wall was not Indian. Still, they’d have to come back with a photo from the coroner once the victim was cleaned up just to be safe, but he didn’t tell Sabrina McPhee that right then.

  “Have you seen anything strange in your building or the parking garage in the last few weeks that might stand out as suspicious now?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” Her eyes darted over to where the body was. “God, how will I ever come down here again? It’s like someone left that body just for me. Who would do that, detectives?” She looked back and forth between them.

  “Reed!”

  Reed startled, turning when he saw Daphne Dumont jogging toward him, her heels click-clacking on the concrete. She looked behind her several times before she made it to him, as if checking to see if anyone was after her. She’d obviously somehow slipped past the officers guarding the entry.

  Great.

  “Daphne, you’re not supposed to be in here. This is a crime scene.”

  “I know, I know,” she said breathlessly, flipping her blonde hair back. Daphne Dumont was a newscaster for one of the local networks. She was tenacious and single-minded when it came to tracking a story, though not without morals. Reed liked her. He’d even dated her for a few months a year or so before but it hadn’t gone anywhere. He’d found himself feeling more obligated than excited to call her and had broken it off. She’d been annoyed, and—he knew—hurt, but they’d moved on and had a good rapport now. “I saw you and slipped around the barrier. I didn’t think you’d mind. Can you give me any information about what’s going on here? Rumor has it—”

  “Excuse me,” he said to Sabrina McPhee as he led Daphne away and nodded at Ransom to wrap up the interview. When he had her a few feet away by a large, square column, he said, “This is a serious situation, Daphne. There’s been a murder, and we can’t have you compromising the crime scene.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Reed. You know me.” She craned her neck over his shoulder but he stepped to the side, blocking her view of where several criminalists now worked around the DOA. She shot him an irritated glance. “Rumor has it there might be a serial killer on the loose in Cincinnati.”

  “Where’d you hear this rumor?”

  She flipped her hair again, bringing her chin up. “I can’t reveal my sources. Suffice it to say, I have other connections in the CPD, Reed. More than one, in fact.” She narrowed her eyes slightly and smirked at him. Her expression and the way she said it made him suspect the statement had been meant to make him jealous, but the only thing Reed felt was annoyance.

  “Listen, I don’t have a statement right now. All I can tell you is that there’s been a murder and we’re investigating. Now you’ll need to leave so I can get back to work.”

  “Fine,” she mumbled, chewing at her glossy lip. She glanced off to the side and then back at him. “Listen, if you want to get a cup of coffee sometime, call me, okay? We were both really busy last year, and maybe the timing wasn’t right, but I feel like we had a good thing.”

  Shit. “Listen . . . Daphne, I’m really up to my eyeballs in work right now.” He suppressed a grimace at his own inopportune wording. Also, Christ, there was a dead man lying a few feet from where they stood.

  “You don’t even have time for a cup of coffee?”

  He pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to be unkind, but he didn’t want to lead her on either. “No. I’m sorry.”

  Her face fell slightly, but she nodded. “I get it. I’ll get out of your hair. Hey, if you do have a statement, call me first, okay?”

  “I will. I promise.”

  She smiled, that light-up-the-screen grin she was known for. “Great. See ya.”

  Daphne turned and so did Reed, walking back to where Ransom was standing, writing in his notebook. He saw Sabrina McPhee heading away, toward the door that led back to her apartment. She moved sort of awkwardly, as though she had a sprained ankle or some old injury. Hell, maybe she’d tripped over her own feet when
she’d unexpectedly come across a dead body. And who could blame her? “Did you get Sabrina McPhee’s information?”

  “Yup. What did Daphne want?”

  “Information. She didn’t get it from me.” Reed checked but didn’t see her walking toward the exit like he thought he would. He frowned, glancing around, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “You ready to get out of here?” Ransom asked, removing a donut wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. He peeled the napkin aside and took a bite. “I think we have everything we’re going to get until we hear more from Dr. Westbrook.”

  Reed eyed the donut. “Really?”

  “What? Donuts are delicious.”

  Reed shook his head. “You enjoy that. I have a quick call to make and then we’ll get going.”

  “Yeah. No problem.”

  Reed walked back to where he’d stood with Daphne, using the column for some privacy as he dialed Liza’s cell number.

  “Hi, Detective.”

  Reed smiled. He couldn’t help liking that she’d recognized his number. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. I haven’t taken a day off in longer than I can remember. I’m finding it hard to figure out what to do with myself.”

  “Rest and relax. You had a stressful night.”

  “I’m trying. I’m also having an alarm installed. I think I’ll take a few days off to camp out here and let room service feed me while that gets done.”

  He smiled. “Good. Hey, I was calling to update you on what the criminalists found.” Reed had heard from the lab earlier but hadn’t had a chance to call Liza before they got called to the murder scene he was currently at.

  “Oh. Anything?”

  “Unfortunately, no. They fingerprinted several surfaces in your bedroom, the doorknob, and the windowsill in your office, including a few surfaces in there too. The only prints they found were your own.”

  “So, he wore gloves?”

  “Possibly.” Reed glanced toward the officers still standing near the body and away. “Listen . . . is there any chance that the man who broke in your apartment was a patient?”

  Liza paused. “All my patients are residents of Lakeside.”

  “But surely you have patients you saw there who have since been released? An address isn’t that hard to get on the Internet.”

  “Yes, you’re right. But . . . what reason would one of them have to break in to my apartment and leave me a rose?”

  “A crush?”

  There was another momentary silence. “I mean, I suppose. It happens on occasion, but . . . I can’t think of anyone specific right now.”

  “Okay, well, if you do, will you let me know? I wouldn’t mind following up with anyone you think of who might be a possibility.”

  “Okay. Thank you again, Reed. I did . . . well . . .”

  Her voice faded away and Reed angled his body even more away from the hubbub of the crime scene. “Liza? What is it?”

  She sighed. “I did want to mention one thing to you regarding last night.”

  “What is it?”

  “My brother, ah, I told you about my brother, about his crime.”

  Reed closed his eyes. His crime. She was referring to the brutal murder of her father and her sister, and the attempted murder on herself. “Yes,” he said quietly.

  “I got a notification in the mail a week or so ago telling me he’s being considered for parole. I didn’t look at the date on the letter. I was surprised and . . . upset by the news and I didn’t check that. I’m obviously not there now to do so, but it’s a possibility it was forwarded. I moved recently from another place across town to be closer to the hospital.”

  “Paroled? Have you had any contact with him over the years?”

  “No. None. I guess it’s just procedure to notify the victims? Anyway, I thought I should let you know about that.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Julian James Nolan.”

  “All right. Thanks, Liza. I’ll check into it, okay? Hopefully he’s still locked up and you can rest easily on that front.”

  “Yeah, some rest would be nice . . .” Her words faded away and Reed leaned in again as if that would help him pick up some sound on the other end that would clarify her thoughts.

  “Oh my God,” she muttered.

  His spine went straight. “Liza, what is it?”

  “Breaking news.” She was silent for another moment and he could hear the very soft drone of what sounded like a television in the background that she’d just turned up. “Reed, are you there? At the crime scene downtown?”

  He stilled. He hadn’t intended on telling her about this third victim found in the same condition as her boss in the wake of what she’d gone through last night. And until they knew who the victim was and might have reason to question her about the crime that was obviously committed by the same man who’d killed Steven Sadowski. “Yeah.” He sighed, figuring the news was reporting based on what vehicles could be seen entering the scene. When a body bag got pulled out of an ambulance, it was a sure sign there was a dead body. Generally, though, a murder with no details didn’t make the news. For all they knew, a homeless person had OD’d, not that that wasn’t sad in and of itself, but it generally wasn’t breaking news.

  “My God, it’s the same,” she said. “Reed, they’re showing a picture of the body. It . . . it has no eyes. The same person did this.”

  He was suddenly on alert, his jaw tight as he looked around at all the people in the garage. But none of them looked out of place. “Liza, are you telling me there’s a picture on the news of a body that looks just like Steven Sadowski’s did?”

  “Yes,” she said, and she sounded slightly breathless. He heard a click. “I turned it off. But, Reed, my God, again? This is the third victim. They’re saying there’s a serial killer on the loose in Cincinnati.”

  “That picture was not supposed to get out. I’m so sorry you saw that. Someone leaked it. Listen, I have to go, okay? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. You go.”

  He hung up, sticking his phone in his pocket, and swearing violently under his breath. Fucking Daphne. She’d somehow snuck a picture while she was down in the garage.

  And it’d only taken her five minutes to upload it to her news station so they could broadcast it out to the city using whatever hysteria-inducing language they thought would bring the best ratings.

  He felt like throttling her.

  Now the CPD had a big fucking mess on its hands.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Reed closed his door behind him and engaged the lock, rotating his shoulders in an attempt to work out the tension. What a clusterfuck the day had been.

  He’d tried to call Daphne so he could chew her out, but as expected, she wasn’t answering his calls, or returning his messages. Which verified exactly what he’d known. She’d snapped a picture of the victim when she’d snuck into the crime scene, uploaded it along with her unconfirmed theories, and completely upended their investigation. He and his team had spent the remainder of the day attempting to get in front of the mess and making statements to the media. The investigation itself had had to take a backseat. And they couldn’t afford that. Not when the older a murder got—even by hours—the more difficult it became to collect information.

  The less likely it was to be solved.

  They didn’t even know who the fuck the victim was yet.

  With another muttered curse, seemingly his hundredth that day, he tossed his badge, wallet, and phone onto the kitchen counter, removing his gun and holster and placing those beside the other items.

  The contents of his refrigerator spoke to his current lifestyle—a bottle of ketchup, a half-eaten burger still in its take-out box, an almost-empty bag of coffee beans, a shriveled apple, and two bottles of Heineken. He grabbed one of the beers and shut his refrigerator, using an opener to flip off the cap and taking a long drink.

  Reed leaned against his counter and rolled the cold bottle over his fo
rehead, and then stretched his neck one more time. Better.

  His phone rang and he glanced back at it, the word Mom flashing on the screen. He picked it up. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  She paused. “You sound tired.”

  He breathed out a small smile. Leave it to his mom to hear his exhaustion in two words over a telephone line. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I am. Long day.” Long week. Long . . . month as a matter of fact.

  “Your father and I saw that murder victim found downtown. It was awful.” It sounded like she let out a shudder as she said the last word. “That’s the case you’re working, isn’t it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh, Lord.” She paused. “Any suspects yet?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  She sighed. “I won’t ask if you’re okay. I know it’s your job. But, gosh, to see that in person, Reed. It must have been gruesome. I just . . . it’s a mom’s instinct to protect her kids from things like that, and here you are, a grown man who’s a protector himself.”

  He smiled. “I’m okay, Mom. Really.”

  “I know you are. Still though, it’s hard for me not to want to put my hand over your eyes and shield them like I used to do when something inappropriate came on a TV show we were watching.” He could hear the nostalgic smile in her voice. The love.

  “I appreciate it,” he said, meaning it. “And I know you worry. But really, I’m okay. Just eager to catch the son of a . . . the SOB who’s committing these crimes.”

  “I have faith you will. Are you coming for dinner on Sunday?”

  “Yup, I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, good. Can’t wait to hug you. I love you, Reed.”

  “I love you too, Mom. Tell Dad hey.”

  “I will. Bye, sweetheart.”

  “Bye.”

  He stood there for a minute, feeling a little more settled. Yeah, he was a grown man, but it was nice to feel cared for, to receive the small reminder that he was loved and that if the job got to be too much on any given day, he had lots of listening ears to turn to.