by Mia Sheridan
“No disagreements here,” Reed muttered. “We’ll get out of your way. Let me know if you find anything noteworthy.”
As they climbed the stairs back toward where Ransom was still doing a walk-through of the house, performing a more thorough search of closets and cabinets, his sergeant was using his phone to call cadaver dogs. He hung up as they entered the upstairs hall. “Dogs’ll be here shortly.”
Reed turned, heading toward the kitchen where there was a back door. He opened it, stepping outside into the mild spring day, the sunshine above seeming wrong somehow. How could the sun still shine when rooms like the one he’d just been in existed? When evil like that walked the earth?
Hell. I just visited hell.
There was a patio directly off the back door and beyond that, a large yard stretched before him, twenty or thirty raised planters in row after row after row, plants and weeds competing for space within each one. Reed’s heart tightened like a clenched fist. There were murdered women in those planters. He knew there were. The dogs would confirm it.
“At least we can give some families a little peace,” his sergeant said, looking around as if in a daze, his thoughts obviously having followed the same path, his certainty about what they’d find as strong as Reed’s.
Yes, at least they could give some families a little peace. But that’s about all they could do, and the thought caused an icy frisson of violence to tremble through Reed. They’d arrived too late. Far too late. Years too late. No one had come running when those women surely begged for mercy. For help.
His own grandmother had died in this very house. Where had her little boy been while she was being tortured in the room of horrors below? Being tortured as well in a different house of horrors not too far from there? No. No. He couldn’t think about that. Not now.
He turned away, heading back inside where Ransom was coming down the stairs. Ransom had stuck his head in the basement room earlier. He knew what they were dealing with, but Reed updated him on the pictures they’d found in the floor, and the garden out back, including the one of Cora Hartsman.
“This just gets crazier and crazier.” He paused and Reed looked more closely at him. He’d been at a lot of disturbing crime scenes with Ransom over the past few years, but this was the first time he looked truly haunted.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, ah, we found a laptop in Draper’s office.” He paused, his eyes drifting off for a moment as though he was picturing something. “He took video of some of it,” he said. “The women.”
“Oh Christ,” Reed breathed.
“That’s not the worst of it though.” Ransom lowered his voice. “That little kid, his grandson, he made him participate.” Ransom scrubbed a hand down his face. “The way he begged, Reed . . . for himself, for them . . .” Ransom turned away, gathering himself. “I’ve been doing this job a long time and I don’t think I’ve seen anything worse than that.”
Reed didn’t know what to say. There were no words for that type of horror. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “We’ll have evidence,” he said. At least there was that.
Ransom nodded, and they both stood straighter, shrugging off their emotions as best as possible. It was not the time for that. “We need to talk about this, Reed. We need to try to figure out this guy’s next move. And where Charles Hartsman fits into all this.”
“I know. I think we should let the techs and the dogs take over here. Has Jennifer called you back yet?” She’d dropped everything to focus on the task of tracking down Draper’s grandson, Axel, and he hoped to God she was having some luck.
“Not yet.”
“Did you find anything upstairs?”
“Nothing noteworthy. It looks unused, which makes sense since the old man couldn’t do stairs. He must have had someone in to clean though, because there wasn’t a lick of dust.”
“Anything in the room where he slept?” Reed asked, nodding toward the bedroom on the first floor.
“Nada except a shitload of medication. Dude wasn’t well.”
“Yeah, in more ways than one,” Reed muttered. If he had known earlier, he might have been tempted to raise his hands in a round of applause over the man’s dead body.
But Charles Hartsman had done that. So, Reed would be celebrating his biological father’s atrocities. And he could not let that come to pass. Reed felt a bout of crazed laughter rising in his throat. If he didn’t lock it down, he’d be no good to anyone.
“We did find a few issues of Tribulation in his office though,” Ransom said. “Unfortunately, they’re the ones we already have. I bagged them up as evidence.”
“He told me he didn’t have any copies,” Reed said, then shook his head, massaging his head quickly. “No, Charles Hartsman told me he didn’t have any issues, though he must have been the one to read through them since he gave us the tip. Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s as crazy as kill room dude?”
Reed made a small sound of agreement.
“It looks like someone may have been sleeping on the couch in the office too. The criminalists will go over that. Maybe we can get proof it was Hartsman.”
Reed nodded, looking around. There was a cat food bowl half full of kibble near the end of the hall. If it was in fact Charles Hartsman who’d been living there and impersonating the old man, calling in tips to Reed and who knew what the fuck else, then he’d also fed the cat.
Apparently, his father didn’t abide by the starvation of animals.
Only co-eds.
Reed felt himself reeling.
Compartmentalize, Davies.
As he glanced toward the room he knew to be Gordon Draper’s office, something came back to Reed, a moment that had felt wrong to him though at the time he couldn’t explain to himself why. I failed, Gordon Draper had said as he’d gazed at the photograph of his grandson, Everett. Not I failed him. But I failed.
Those words had repeated in his head after he’d left his house. They hadn’t quite fit.
Had Gordon Draper meant that he hadn’t created the monster he’d sought to?
At least not in that particular grandson.
“He has an endgame,” Reed murmured, looking up at Ransom. “That’s what Charles Hartsman said yesterday.”
What’s his endgame do you think, son? Have you read the conclusion to those comics?
“He was giving me another tip.”
“Are you sure he was trying to help you? And if so, why?”
“I have no fucking clue.”
Ransom glanced down the hall as a second team of criminalists entered the house. “Didn’t you order those last three Tribulation issues?”
“Yeah. They should be at the station by now.”
“Let’s go get them,” Ransom said. “And hope Jennifer’s got something for us by the time we get there.”
They walked toward the front door. Charles Hartsman had obviously accomplished his goal. He’d killed the psychopath who had murdered his mother. Why would he try to help Reed with this case now? He had no good answer for that.
Compartmentalize, Reed reminded himself yet again. He had to. This was his job, and he had a feeling things were only going to swing further sideways.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Reed disconnected the call, tossing his cell in the center console. “Uniforms are on their way to Sabrina McPhee’s apartment and Milo Ortiz’s house.”
Just as he set it down, Ransom’s phone rang and Reed heard him greet Jennifer, saying a silent prayer that she had something useful for them. “Hold on. I’m going to put you on speaker,” Ransom said.
“Jennifer,” Reed said as soon as Ransom held his phone up between them.
“Hi. All right. Every available officer in the city is looking for Axel Draper. I pulled up everything I could on him. Twenty-seven years old, lives in Loveland, alone from what I can tell. He worked at a security company until about six months ago when he quit suddenly, and unexpectedly, according to his boss there.”
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“Six months ago,” Reed said. “That corresponds with his brother’s suicide.”
“Yep. The boss I spoke with said he was severely broken up about it. He took some time off for the funeral and then called and said he wasn’t coming back.”
“Huh. Okay. And he hasn’t worked since then?”
“No. But he doesn’t necessarily need to either as he has quite a nice settlement from his parents’ estate.”
“Right. His parents died when he was a kid. That’s why he and his brother went to live with their grandfather.”
“Who must have been at the height of his serial killing career.”
“Five angels mistakenly sent to hell,” Reed murmured, thinking back to Draper’s laptop now in evidence. What the boys had experienced in that house, the things they’d seen . . . that had to be the reason for Everett Draper’s suicide. He’d never recovered . . . and in a different way, neither had Axel.
“I had some uniforms swing by his address, but no one was home, and they said it appears severely neglected. Grass up to their knees, and when they looked in the windows, there were dirty dishes on all the surfaces they could see.”
He’d had some sort of breakdown, Reed thought. Had his brother’s suicide been the final straw in what was an already shaky mental stability? And what was beyond the doors of that house? In the garage? Basement? An eyeball removal surgery setup? Christ. “We need to get a warrant,” he told Jennifer.
“I agree. I’ll get on that right away.”
“Okay, good.” Something suddenly occurred to Reed. “Jennifer, what was the name of the security company he worked at?”
“Um, let me see . . . ShieldSafe.”
Reed’s heart gave a small jolt. “That’s an alarm company, right?”
“Uh . . .” It sounded like she was typing something into a search engine. “Yeah. It is. That’s their main business anyway. They serve the entire Tri State Area.”
Sweat broke out on his brow. He didn’t use that particular company, but if someone knew security systems really well, wouldn’t they be able to disarm one relatively easily?
“I gotta go. We’re almost at the office though. See you in three.”
He hung up, dialing Liza’s cell. “Come on, come on,” he murmured as it rang and rang. Her voicemail came on and he left her a clipped message to call him the second she got it.
“Hey, it’s unlikely, okay?” Ransom said, obviously having followed the train of his thoughts. “She’s probably in the shower.”
“Yeah,” Reed breathed, but a bad feeling was zinging over his nerves.
He pulled in to the parking lot of their office building. “So,” Ransom said, obviously to distract him. “We could be dealing with two killers here. Axel, who went mental after his brother died, and is now playing out the plot of Tribulation for reasons only a total psycho could explain, and Hartsman, who left his life on the lam, showed up for reasons possibly having to do with his mother’s murder, and is now trying to subvert Axel from his master plan.”
Reed hadn’t thought about it in quite those terms, but there was something to that theory, as unbelievable as it sounded and as many questions as it still raised . . . What’s his endgame do you think, son?
His father’s endgame had been Professor Vaughn Merrick, the man Charles considered responsible for the horrific torture he’d endured as a child.
“His grandfather involved his grandson,” Ransom was saying. “Think of what that would do to a kid, having to participate in the torture and murder of countless women.”
And then tend the garden where their bones were buried. A shiver moved through him. Yeah, that could fuck someone up. And bad.
If Axel Draper was playing out the plot of Tribulation, didn’t it stand to reason that his ultimate demon, the one waiting for him when he’d been “mistakenly sent to hell,” would be his own grandfather? The endgame? The final battle?
Bellum Finivit.
Had Charles Hartsman killed Draper himself to usurp Axel’s endgame? Or was it purely a personal vendetta? Mimi . . .
“We need to see how Tribulation ends,” Reed stated.
They headed straight for Reed’s mailbox and he swore viciously when there was only a few pieces of interoffice mail and nothing else. “That kid promised me he’d overnight those copies,” Reed said. Ransom followed as he took the stairs two at a time, making his way to his desk to see if someone had left it there. Zilch.
He ran his hands through his hair, making a grunt of frustration. His phone rang and he snatched it up, his heart sinking when he saw it was not Liza. “Hello.”
“Detective Davies, this is Sorrento over in District One. I just did the welfare check on Sabrina McPhee.”
“Anything unusual?”
“No. The building super let us into her apartment. We had a look around. Nothing strange except it appears she hasn’t been there for a couple of days. The daily calendar page on her desk hasn’t been flipped since Sunday and her mailbox is full of uncollected mail. There are some suitcases in her closet, but I have no idea if she had more travel bags. Coulda taken off on a vacation?”
That sinking feeling went lower. She wasn’t on vacation. Reed would swear on it. “Okay, thank you, Officer Sorrento. I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem.”
He filled Ransom in, and then dialed Liza, hanging up when her voicemail came on once again.
Something is very wrong.
“I have to go check on her, Ran—" His phone rang yet again and he grabbed for it, swearing when he saw it was Zach. “Zach. Listen, I’ll call you back, I—”
“No,” he practically yelled. “Arryn’s missing.”
Every molecule in Reed’s body came to a screeching halt.
“Missing?”
“Yes, hold on.” Zach’s voice grew distant for a second as he spoke with someone in the background. “Sorry, officers just arrived.”
“What’s going on, Zach?” Ransom was still, watching him with wide eyes.
Zach let out a harsh exhale. “After I talked to you, I headed straight home. Reed, Charles Hartsman had been here just moments before.”
The world around Reed darkened for a moment and then lit up, overly bright. He sagged against the edge of his desk. “Oh, God. Josie?”
“He didn’t touch her. Reed, another guy showed up too. He had a gun, threatened Josie. Charles took a bullet, Reed. The unknown suspect took off with him.”
Took off with him? “Is he dead?”
“I don’t know. Josie thought it was a shoulder wound, but she’s not sure. There was a lot of blood.”
Josie was okay. He exhaled a short breath of relief. Reed stood straight, paced. All around him, other detectives were watching. Duffy approached Ransom.
“Hartsman’s the one who told Josie the guy had Arryn. But it was garbled. Hartsman was losing consciousness.”
Reed paused. “Okay. But you didn’t see this guy take Arryn too?”
“No, but from what we can tell, she’s been missing since this morning. She never showed up for class.”
“You sure, Zach? You know Arryn—”
“I’m sure.”
Reed made a hissing sound. This is not happening.
He started to ask Zach if he was okay, but of course he wasn’t okay. But Zach wouldn’t fall apart. Reed knew he wouldn’t. He’d stay calm and focused and directly on target until he found his daughter. And Reed was bound and determined to do the same right alongside him.
“How’s Josie?”
“She’s okay. Holding it together.” Of course she was. Because that was Josie. That was his mother.
“We think the unknown suspect is a man named Axel Draper. I’m trying to get some information on his next move. I’ll be there as soon as possible and I’ll tell you everything we know. Zach . . . we’re going to find her.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Reed.” Zach hung up.
Reed’s whole body was vibrating. “Talk to m
e,” Ransom said.
He gave Ransom an extremely short summation of Zach’s call. “He’s setting it up. The conclusion, Ransom. He’s gathering all his characters.” Was he gathering them alive, or dead? That was the question.
Triage.
Assign degrees of urgency.
Most pressing matter first. It was all he could do. Rely on his crisis training. “Will you head to the farmhouse? Zach and Josie will need the support, and Zach needs to be briefed on everything we know. I have to check on Liza.”
“Absolutely. I’m going now.” He grabbed his wallet and keys that he’d tossed on his desk.
“Ransom—”
“I got you, man. I’ll be there in record time.”
“Thank you.”
Together, they headed for the exit, going separate ways in the parking lot.
Reed jumped into his car, sticking his own light to the roof before peeling out of the lot. As he drove, he dialed the kid’s number who he’d paid to send the final three editions of Tribulation. Reed tapped his palm against the wheel as he drove, “Answer, motherfucker.”
“Hello?” The guy’s voice sounded like he’d just woken up.
“This is Reed Davies in Cincinnati. You were supposed to send me those editions of Tribulation.”
“Huh? Oh.” He yawned. “Yeah. Sorry. Someone offered me more money for them. I had to take their—”
“Jesus Christ! Who?”
“What?”
“Who offered you more money for those editions?”
“Some guy in your city, actually. Drake . . . Dapper? No, Draper, I think? I shouldn’t be telling you that. It’s, you know, privileged information, so don’t front me out.”
Was he fucking kidding? Reed’s hands gripped the wheel. Hartsman had ordered those comics and had them shipped to Draper’s address while he was staying there. Why? Why had he wanted to read them first?
“You should have honored my order.” Goddammit. He didn’t have time for this.
