The Depraved (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 26)

by Jonas Saul

  “There’s a reason the killer let Pastor Blair’s daughter go, but killed Blair’s wife. Also, William Mason’s wife was thrown from the plane. DeOcampo checked. It was her first jump. When the rest of the jumpers left the plane, they said she was strapped up and ready to go, but her body was found without a chute. Granted she was going to jump with her husband, but …”

  “Did William land with his chute?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Any bodies on the plane that crashed?”

  Sarah shook her head again. “It would appear the killer relieved William Mason of his chute, donned it, and jumped before the plane crashed. Whoever it is will be onto the next victim by now.”

  “You think whoever it is is outside right now, waiting for you to leave to kill me?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I feel Brent Doyle is next, unless it’s him doing all this. Also, Alex checked out the area before we knocked. No one is watching the place at this precise moment.”

  Hunter allowed himself a glance at Alex. “He checked out the area? So, what, that makes it safe?”

  Sarah nodded. “Safer than you can imagine.”

  Hunter clapped his hands. “Well, then.” He got up from his chair. “I have to make some calls.”

  “Who are you trying to call?”

  He thought about lying. Or he could tell Sarah it was none of her business. But that Alex kid scared him to speak the truth.

  “I’m trying to find my ex. Gonna call more of her friends.”

  “You mentioned that. Where might she be?”

  “No idea.”

  “Okay, so, DeOcampo and I have a proposal for you regarding Doyle.”

  Hunter crossed his arms. “Go ahead.”

  “Tell us where Doyle lives, and we’ll go stake out his home until two or three in the morning. In the meantime, you go look for your ex-girlfriend. After that, relieve us and you watch Doyle’s place until morning. Someone will relieve you at breakfast. If this killer goes after Doyle, we’ll be there. That work for you?”

  He found himself nodding. This plan allowed him to get away from Alex and spend several hours looking for Beverly.

  Ten minutes later, the trio who arrived and disturbed his peace and quiet, left to go watch Doyle’s house, which he figured was a waste of time.

  Hunter grabbed his gun, his cell phone, emptied the wine glass he’d left in the bedroom, and ran for his car.

  He would find Beverly tonight, and he would get his shit back.

  Otherwise, she’d regret ever knowing him.

  He was a cop.

  You don’t fuck with cops.

  Ever.

  Chapter 18

  Detective Hunter stopped a few houses down from Anna’s place. Hers was the logical spot for Beverly to hide as they’d been best friends for several years. He parked several blocks away and turned off his personal vehicle. No police cruiser, unmarked or otherwise for tonight’s tasks.

  He had called Bev’s phone a dozen times and only got her voicemail. He tried to remember some of her other friends, or someone she’d turn to for help, but couldn’t come up with a name. There were a few other girlfriends, but more of the type who were just in her life, not the type you called for this sort of help.

  As the engine cooled with soft ticking noises, he stared at Anna’s small townhouse windows, and wondered if Bev would’ve reached out to friends in the first place. With his fifty grand, she could be in any hotel she wanted. In fact, she could be in Niagara Falls, Ottawa, or even Montreal by now. Hell, she could’ve taken that suitcase last night and flew to Vancouver or Halifax.

  But if she was going to fly somewhere, why take his gun? She wouldn’t get through security anywhere with an unregistered Glock. And if ballistics were ever tested, they’d learn his weapon had been involved in several murders in the Jane and Finch area—not ones he committed, though. The gun was lifted off a suspect and never showed up anywhere again. The conviction was in the bag on that case as there were so many witnesses. The courts didn’t need the murder weapon, and who knew when Detective Hunter might need it?

  Well, wherever Beverly had gone, he bet that Anna knew, that much was for sure. And he wanted his money back, or whatever was left of it.

  Otherwise, he could be inclined to report that Beverly Wilder was armed and dangerous, and on the run. When officers picked her up and found the Glock, her story that it belonged to Detective Hunter wouldn’t go over too well. His bosses would be interested to learn that the weapon is the exact one involved in those murders years ago. Who knows, maybe Bev could do some time for weapons charges—two, maybe three years. It would teach her not to steal from him.

  The clock on the dashboard said it was getting close to midnight. He had two to three hours to find Beverly, so without wasting more time, he pushed open the car door, eased out, and closed it quietly. This wasn’t the best neighborhood, but it wasn’t the shittiest either. Anna had done well for herself, considering she was an uneducated bitch. Beverly had her over visiting several times, and no matter how often he tried to be social, Anna was convinced he was flirting with her. The ego on that woman was as big as the Hindenburg, and it could be taken down just as easily with the right words of fire.

  How her man stayed with her, Hunter would never know.

  The street was empty. No foot traffic, and no cars. Three side streets led to this one, and it wasn’t a thoroughfare, so the only traffic at this hour was local—people coming home from work, or a late dinner.

  He strode with purpose across the street and walked past several small rectangular lawns to get to Anna’s front door.

  Someone laughed so loudly from inside Anna’s house, that he wondered if Beverly was there after all. Wouldn’t that make life so much easier?

  At her front door, he hesitated, staring out at the street behind him. Luckily the outside light was off, so he stood in relative darkness.

  He placed his hand on the knob and tried the door.

  It was locked. He knocked and waited.

  Footsteps approached from the other side of the door.

  He braced himself for Anna’s vitriol, his service weapon in the back of his pants if she drew on him.

  The door opened, and there was Anna, in all her horrid glory. Half dressed in a nightie, her fake tits nearly falling out, the wrinkled skin of an ex-dancer who hit their prime in their thirties, but smoked and fucked her way to early retirement, then got pissed off at the world for the raw deal she got, a bitch named Anna.

  “What the fuck you want, pig?”

  “Is that any way to talk to an officer of the law?”

  She made a spitting sound with her tongue pressed against her top lip, looking him up and down.

  “You’re just a man. Worse, a fuck boy. A piece of shit who couldn’t even keep his woman happy. Now, why you be coming up in here? I already told you I ain’t seen her.”

  “Anna, I need to find her. It’s urgent.”

  “Don’t use my name like we friends.” Her voice rose a notch. “I only knows you, cuz Bev’s my girl. Thass it.”

  “Where is she?” he asked. “Tell me that, and I walk away.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You threatening me?”

  He frowned. “How is that a threat?”

  “The tell me that part, and I walk away. What if I don’t tells you? You still gonna walk?”

  “So you do know where she is.” He straightened up, adjusted his belt line in confidence, and stared her down. “Where is she holed up?”

  Anna’s eyes seemed to lack intelligence in that moment. Maybe it was the dope she smoked daily. Or perhaps she was dumbfounded in how he figured it out and her small brain was firing every salvo to understand what was happening.

  “I didn’t say shit.”

  “That’s my point. You haven’t given me anything. Where is she?”

  “Honey?” a man called from somewhere behind Anna.

 
“Shut yo’ mouth,” she shouted over her shoulder. When she looked back at Hunter, her eyes had life in them again. More like anger. “You gonna walk off my porch and take your skinny ass back to whatever hole you crawled out of and leave me the fuck alone. I ain’t telling you shit.”

  Anna spun away and moved to slam the door in his face, but Hunter shot forward and threw his shoulder into the door, whipping it back hard enough that the handle broke a hole in the drywall and remained stuck open.

  “Hey!” Anna shouted. “What the fuck, man?”

  Hunter shoved her away from him. She stumbled backward a few feet, then dropped on her ass, a low moan erupting from her.

  “What the hell?” the male voice said from the living room to the right.

  Before the man reached them in the hall, Hunter withdrew his weapon and aimed it at Anna.

  “Step back,” he shouted at the man.

  The guy’s hands went up and his considerable belly shook with the movement. He was shirtless, with a pair of stupid green shorts covering most of his bony legs.

  “Go sit on the couch,” Hunter said, leaning into the living room farther. “Anna and I are going to have a talk.”

  “I ain’t talking to you about nothing, pig fucker.”

  He leaned down to the floor. “Are you so fucking dumb you don’t know that when you call me a pig fucker, you’re actually calling Beverly a pig?” He waved upward with his free hand. “Get on your feet, whore.”

  Anna scrambled to her feet using the wall for support. “Whatchoo gonna do, shoot us? You a killer now, eh cop? Fuck you.” Anna spit toward his feet but missed. “You ain’t shit without that badge. My boy kick your ass.”

  “Hey whoa, honey,” the man on the couch said. “Let’s hear what he gots to say first.”

  Hunter gestured with the tip of his weapon. “Sit on the couch beside him.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Why did Anna always have to push him? Why couldn’t she just do what she was told and let life go on in a simpler manner?

  “If you don’t sit down, I’ll use the butt of this gun on your fuckin’ teeth. We’ll see how fast you sit down with a broken mouth.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him, obviously refusing to sit. “I told you I don’t know where she’s at. If I did, I wouldn’t tell you anyway and you cain’t make me, but I still don’t know where she is.”

  He’d met a hundred of people like Anna before. Always trying to assert their dominance in the wrong places at the wrong times.

  This was one of those times.

  He placed the tip of the weapon against her forehead, doing his best to remain calm, and waited for her attention to be focused on the gun.

  In the brief moment when she looked cross-eyed at the gun, and her man whispered her name in an attempt to calm her attitude, Hunter kicked her in the stomach. The force of his foot doubled her over and she dropped onto the couch, clutching at her gut, while trying to take in air.

  He slipped the gun back in his pants. He wouldn’t need it anymore and had no intention of using it anyway.

  “You had to go and act tough, didn’t you?” Hunter scanned the living room to see if there were any signs of anyone else in the house.

  The boyfriend held Anna as she was starting to get her breath back. She mumbled a few curse words, some threats, but Hunter ignored her as he stared at the coffee table. Two drinks. One bag of chips. The TV on silent, a Netflix thriller.

  He moved to the dining room. The large table was littered with receipts and envelopes. They’d been doing a month end or something before dinner and a movie stopped them.

  Cautiously, he stepped into the kitchen. The plates piled high indicated only two people ate dinner here tonight.

  So, Beverly might not be in Anna’s townhouse, but the bitch had to know where she was. She just had to.

  He came around through the kitchen, listening to them in the living room as they moved around now, muttering something.

  Hunter frowned. What were they up to?

  Maybe Beverly was in an upstairs room. She could’ve eaten up there and stayed hidden to give the ugly couple some private time. He’d have done the same.

  When he swung back into the living room, Anna was just putting her cell phone to her ear.

  He lunged across the room at her.

  Anna spun away and ducked to avoid him.

  Instead of grabbing the cell phone, he just barreled into her, knocking her off her feet. She landed sideways onto the man still sitting on the couch, with Hunter landing on top of her.

  They struggled as she kicked her legs, but his weight and strength was too much to fight off. He wrapped his legs around her, then pushed his shoulder into her neck and extended an arm to wrap his hand around the back of the boyfriend’s neck. With his free hand, he grappled for the cell phone.

  It took too long, so he swatted at it and knocked it from her. The phone was lost to the air and came down near the entrance to the living room.

  With her this close, his stomach pressing into her body, he gripped her even tighter as she protested, then pushed his pelvis against her.

  “There might have been a day …” he whispered in her ear, then head butted her in the temple with his forehead, pushing hard once more with his crotch as it was pressed into one of her ass cheeks.

  Half erect, he climbed off her and went to retrieve her phone.

  She grabbed at her head and cringed, curling into a ball and sliding off her man to the floor, bumping the edge of the coffee table on the way down.

  “Ah, man,” the guy said, slurring his words. “You didn’t have to do that, man. You hurt her.”

  Hunter retrieved the phone off the floor, stood back up, flicked the hair from his face, then adjusted his crotch. Half erect could be uncomfortable sometimes. He should make her finish him off by gunpoint, but he couldn’t waste the time.

  “She shouldn’t open her mouth unless she has something nice to say or she’s about to take a cock.”

  “Fuck you,” Anna said, her tone somewhat diminished by the small beating she’d gotten.

  The phone was locked. It sat on the Lock Screen, going nowhere. He tapped the bottom button and it asked him for a fingerprint.

  She wasn’t going to give it to him without a fight.

  He yanked his weapon back out and strode across the floor to the coffee table. With one hard kick, the table—and all the drinks and chips and shit piled on it—flew to the side and spilled in front of the TV. Glasses broke, and the ashtray dumped a black smear on their shitty, dirty carpet.

  She edged away from him as he dropped to his knees and placed the weapon at her temple.

  “Unlock this fucking thing.”

  She shook her head in defiance, pushing the tip of the weapon backward, the movement making the butt of the weapon slip in his sweaty palm.

  A fury rose in him he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to beg her to just do what he asked so that fury wouldn’t come out. It was the same anger, the same seething rage he felt that night at the barn. He’d only dealt with it a few times, and Anna was drawing it from him with ease.

  “You stupid bitch whore.” He kneed her in the thigh. She grunted with the blow. “Last chance before I do something you won’t walk away from.”

  “Baby, give him what he wants.” The man leaned down to look her in the face.

  “You can fuck off when this is over. Takin’ his side and shit.”

  “I ain’t taking anyone’s side, baby. This guy is dangerous.”

  “Listen to him.” Hunter leaned closer. “I’ll shoot him and shoot you. Then I’ll fuck your corpse in the ass and burn this townhouse down. Or, just give me a fingerprint and I’ll leave.”

  Anna’s eyes were wide and rimmed in red. She was tired, used up, and in pain. Why she fought so hard was beyond him. He would get what he wanted whether he had to slice off her finger with a kitchen knife or not.

  There was no way Beverly was going to get away with
stealing his fifty grand, and his Glock.

  But then Anna did something that surprised him.

  She reached up slowly and unlocked the phone.

  Hunter eased off her, crawled backward several feet, then pushed up to stand and slipped the gun away.

  He scrolled through to the last call she made.

  It was a 911 call that never connected. Although, if it had, even briefly, officers would be on the way.

  He scrolled farther and saw Beverly’s number.

  “I’ll be taking this.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Anytime, bitch.” He started for the front door.

  “Who gonna pay for my table, the shit you broke?”

  “Send in a complaint to the department. See how far that gets you.”

  “Fucking asshole,” Anna shouted from the other room.

  He stopped at the front door and turned back. “That’s exactly what I will do if I see either of you again. You know where I live. Drop by if you need a rimming.”

  “You depraved pig fucker.”

  “Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em.”

  Hunter yanked the door out of the wall and slammed it shut behind him.

  Minutes later, he was in his car and driving along several side streets to leave the neighborhood in case black and whites were en route.

  Then he used Anna’s cell phone to call Beverly’s number. She wouldn’t pick up with his phone. Maybe she would if she thought it was Anna calling.

  “Hello?” Beverly whispered. She sounded scared, out of breath.

  “Hey, baby.”

  There was a slight gasp, then silence.

  “Beverly?” he said.

  “Holy fuck, am I glad you called. I need help.”

  He doubted that, but figured he’d play along.

  “You want to apologize first?” he asked. “Then come back home? Is that it?”

  “Donovan, I’m in trouble.”

  “Why are you whispering? And how come you sound different? You have a cold?”

  “Because, I’m hiding.” She whispered hiding with her lips against the phone, blurring the word.