“What’s that?”
“He’s the one who’s dirty; he’s the one who bailed his son out of all his problems as a teenager, paid off the cops, reporters, and god knows who else. And yet he’s painting me as a criminal. If it wasn’t so damaging, it would be damn comical.”
Drake heard the sound of a car door opening. Taking one deep breath, he raised his head just enough to peer through the Navigator’s windows at the two people who were speaking.
One was Dr. Gary Kildare, of course, but the other was a pretty woman he didn’t recognize.
“Yeah, but you can’t go after Ken, at least not directly. If you do, you might as well just forget about winning the election,” the woman said, her bright red lips turning downward in a frown. “After what happened with Thomas…”
Dr. Kildare nodded.
“Yeah, I know. And I feel bad about what happened to his son,” he paused. “I know that this is going to sound terrible, but I can’t help but think that Thomas’s death was the best thing that happened to Ken’s election hopes. Seriously.”
The woman’s frown deepened.
“You’re right, it does sound terrible.”
Dr. Kildare sighed heavily, then rubbed at his temples with a gloved hand.
“I know; I’m sorry. It’s been a long week is all,” a weak smile crossed his face, which made him look much older than he did on the large election posters that covered the windows of the building that they had just exited. “Thank you, Mary. Thanks for everything.”
Then something happened that made Drake’s eyebrows lift, something that convinced him that hanging outside in the freezing cold for the better part of an hour wasn’t a complete waste of time.
Dr. Kildare leaned in and kissed the woman, who Drake was now fairly certain was his campaign manager, on the lips. Only this wasn’t one of those European-style exchanges between close friends.
This one lingered.
When they eventually pulled apart, Dr. Kildare wiped his mouth and then his eyes darted around.
Drake dropped a split-second before the man’s gaze fell on the Navigator.
Shit, that was close.
“See you tomorrow?” Dr. Kildare asked.
“Of course.”
“You’re sure that we can’t meet later tonight?”
There was an inaudible exchange that Drake didn’t pick up.
“Alright, tomorrow then,” Dr. Kildare said, a hint of solemnity on his tongue. “Goodnight, Mary.”
“’Night, Brent.”
A car door closed, and then the sound of an engine starting filled the winter air.
Drake finally allowed himself to exhale, and then slumped against the Navigator’s wheel well. His relief, however, was short-lived; the sound of footsteps approaching in the freshly fallen snow incited panic.
What the hell?
It dawned on him that he had only heard one door close, and then the obvious fact that the doctor and campaign manager had said goodbye outside the car came to the fore.
Drake had expected that they would leave together, which was obviously not the case.
Jesus Christ, I really am getting sloppy. Sloppy and slow.
The real problem was that there was only one other car in the lot beside Dr. Kildare’s Mercedes.
And that car was a black Lincoln Navigator.
Drake swallowed hard and focused on the sound of the footsteps. He was huddled by the rear driver side door, and when he confirmed that Mary was making her way around the front of the car, he slid around the back of the vehicle, staying crouched and out of sight. The sound of a key fob chimed, and then the driver’s door opened. Mary stepped inside, knocked the snow from her boots, then slammed it closed.
Drake glanced around, desperately trying to find a way out of the situation. He considered running, but there were no other cars in the lot that he could hide behind. And in his black coat, there was no question that he would be spotted in the snow.
Does it matter? I can hide my face; she’ll never know who I am.
Drake shook his head.
It did matter; it mattered because Mary would tell Dr. Kildare, and they would know that Ken was spying on them.
And that would make them cautious, and Drake couldn’t afford that. He needed them to be loose, to be free-speaking, in order to get what Ken wanted.
There was only one other thing he could think of to do.
Drake waited for the engine to roar to life, and then when the brake lights came on, he quickly swung around to the passenger side of the vehicle. With a hand on the bumper to gauge the car’s speed, he moved with it as Mary backed out of the parking spot. He stared at the side mirror, and realized that he couldn’t make out her face; it was bent in such a way that he could only see that Navigator logo embroidered on the passenger seat headrest.
Drake was reminded of the signs that he occasionally saw plastered to the back of transport trucks.
If you can’t see me, I can’t see you.
He wondered if that were true, but then had to focus when Mary put the car in drive.
To make things worse, Dr. Kildare’s campaign manager had a lead foot, it appeared.
The car shot forward, and Drake had to jog to keep up with it, which was no small feat considering that he had to remain crouched the entire time.
He slid in behind the vehicle, his thighs burning, the inside of his legs chaffing. Just when he thought he was going to collapse with exhaustion, the car neared the entrance to the parking lot. And there, parked at the side of the road coated in a fresh layer of snow, he spotted his car. As Mary passed his Crown Vic, Drake leaped and landed on the road, barely missing the bullet-ridden hood of his ride.
The air was forced from his lungs, and he gasped, but remained completely still. The snow had looked much more comfortable, more cushioning, than it actually was.
After a moment, he turned his head and peered beneath his car. Breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, he watched as the Navigator turned left and sped into the night.
When he was confident that Mary was gone, Drake started to laugh.
This is ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous.
But as insane as it might be, he finally got something on Dr. Kildare. After all, everyone knew that the good doctor’s wife’s name was Julia, not Mary.
Chapter 2
“Can you please state your name and position for the record?”
Chase Adams glanced around briefly before answering. She was sitting on a chair across from two sets of desks: the first was occupied by three men, who had introduced themselves as Officers Herd and Lincoln from internal affairs and Assistant Deputy Inspector Roger Albright. All of the men had matching expressions on their faces, as if they had been photoshopped using the same parent image: hard, unforgiving, and unsympathetic.
Dr. Beckett Campbell sat on his own behind the second desk. The man had dark circles around his eyes, which appeared sunken, and his bleach-blond hair was flat against his skull. He was wearing a plain navy suit, which seemed wholly out of place on the man that Chase had come to call her friend.
Beckett’s eyes were downcast and when he reached for the glass of water on the desk, she noticed that his hand was trembling slightly.
Chase fixed her gaze on Roger Albright.
“Chase Adams, Sergeant of the 62nd precinct of the NYPD,” she said calmly.
“Thank you,” Officer Herd replied. “Now, can you please recount the events leading up to your appearance at the derelict domicile that once belonged to the now deceased Dr. Tracey Moorfield.”
Chase felt her lips twist into a sneer.
Derelict domicile? They really brought out the thesaurus for this one…
“Sure,” Chase began, then proceeded to tell them the same story that she had been recounting since this investigation had begun: that she had been off-duty at the time, serving a suspension that had since been rescinded after Sergeant Rhodes himself had been suspended. She reported that she
had been at Triple D Investigations, helping out a friend, when a call had come in from Damien and Beckett, asking her to look up news reports about Dr. Moorfield’s past. She left out the part regarding Officer Dunbar’s involvement, just as they had planned.
Officer Herd nodded when she was done.
“And when you arrived, were you the first person on the scene?”
Chase shook her head.
“No, there were several officers already present, including fire and EMT. I also saw one of my colleagues, Detective Henry Yasiv on scene.”
Officer Herd waited for her to continue, but Chase bit her tongue. She had answered the question, and that was all that was required of her. One of the few things that her father, a litigator, had impressed on her many years ago was that when people started running their mouths, offering information that wasn’t requested, they got themselves, and others, in trouble.
And that wasn’t a can of worms that she intended to open. Not when her friend’s career, and perhaps even his freedom, was on the line.
“Sergeant Adams? Is there anything else that you would like to add?”
Chase shook her head.
“No. Have I not answered your question?”
Roger Albright leaned over and whispered something into Herd’s ear. The officer nodded, then turned back to her.
“This isn’t a trial, Sergeant Adams. This is simply an inquest to determine probable cause, and to help us figure out the next course of action.”
Chase nodded and, again, Herd waited.
Eventually, the officer sighed, and Chase repeated, a little more sternly this time, “Have I not answered your question?”
It was Roger who answered, which surprised her given that she thought it impossible that with his lips pressed as tightly together as they were that the man could actually speak.
“You have, Sergeant Adams. Please tell us what happened after you arrived at the scene, leading up to your encounter with Dr. Campbell.”
A terrifying image of Beckett stepping out of the shadows, his hands dripping with blood came to mind, and she shuddered.
“I inquired about my ex-partner, Damien Drake, and then about Suzan Cuthbert.”
“Who did you inquire to?”
“Detective Yasiv. He said that both were okay, and that both were going to make it.”
Herd scribbled something on a pad in front of him, then picked up the line of questioning from Roger Albright.
“Did you ask about Craig Sloan? Did Detective Yasiv mention his name?”
Chase shook her head.
“No; I was just happy that my people were going to survive. That was what mattered most.”
“And what did you do next?”
“I was distraught, and because I was suspended at the time, I went down the side of one of the houses to collect myself.”
Roger Albright leaned forward.
“Please tell us what happened next.”
Chase breathed deeply.
As we rehearsed, she reminded herself. Just as we rehearsed.
“The first thing I saw was Craig Sloan’s body, although at the time I didn’t know it was him—I had never even seen a photo of the man before. He was lying on his back, and he didn’t appear to be moving or breathing. There was a pistol at his side. Then I noticed Dr. Campbell in the shadows. He was… he was visibly upset.”
The three men discussed this amongst themselves for several seconds.
“In your initial report, you stated that you saw blood on Dr. Campbell’s hands. Is this accurate?”
Chase indicated that it was, and Roger nodded.
“Did you notice anything that might have been used to strike Craig Sloan?”
Chase didn’t hesitate.
“There was a rock near his body, which was also stained with blood.”
“Thank you. Now, let’s get back to the gun for a moment. You said it was near the body; approximately how far was it from Craig Sloan?”
“It was several feet from his hand,” she replied instantly.
Again, a short discussion.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Sergeant Adams. You are dismissed.”
Chase blinked, thinking for a second that she had misheard.
“Excuse me?”
“You are dismissed,” Roger Albright repeated.
Chase simply stared.
No, this isn’t right. I’m supposed to talk about Craig Sloan, about the seven people that he murdered, about how Beckett’s insight led to us identifying him as the killer.
Her father’s warning went out the window.
“Craig Sloan… he murdered… there were—” she stammered.
“That will be all, Sergeant Adams,” Roger repeated.
“But—but—”
Roger’s face twisted into a scowl.
“Sergeant Adams, I want to remind you that while this is not a trial, anything you say here today may be used at a future date. Now, please, as head of this inquest, I would like to ask you again to please step down.”
Chase glanced around nervously, her eyes darting first to the three officers, then to Beckett, who didn’t seem to realize what was going on.
She swallowed hard and debated saying something else, but eventually decided against it.
As she stood and walked toward the door, she tried to subtly get Beckett’s attention, to implore with only her eyes that he should stick to the script.
But Beckett didn’t even look up. Instead, he reached for his water, his hand shaking so badly now that it was dangerously close to spilling.
Stick to what I wrote in the note, Beckett. Stick to the note, or we’re all going to go down for this.
Chapter 3
“You alright, hon? You look tired.”
Colin Elliot lowered his spoon into the bowl of cereal and then proceeded to rub his eyes.
“Was up late last night writing, then went for a run,” he groaned as he stretched his calves. “Might have pushed things just a little too hard.”
Ryanne walked over to her husband and laid a hand on his shoulder. He leaned into her, resting his head against her hip.
“You’ve been pushing too hard, Colin. You’re going to burn out.”
Colin pulled away and looked up at his wife. Her face was round, and while it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, it wasn’t exactly pretty, either. Her lips were on the flat side and her nose was a little too thin. She had dark circles around her eyes, a matching raccoon set to his own, but this wasn’t what caught him off guard.
It was her smile. It wasn’t a patronizing grin, but a genuine expression of gratitude or maybe—maybe—even affection. He could hardly believe that this was the same woman who had screamed at him the other night, screamed so long and loud that the police had come to the door to make sure that everything was alright.
Colin swallowed hard and tried to put the image of her face, beat red, her mouth twisted in a snarl, out of his mind.
“Had to finish the book,” he said quietly. “Need to get it out quickly.”
Something flashed across Ryanne’s face, something unpleasant, and her hand slipped off his back. She looked as if she were going to say something, but before she had a chance, laughter suddenly filled the kitchen.
“Juliette, have you eaten breakfast yet? We have to leave soon,” Colin said with a half-hearted smile.
Juliette bounded into the kitchen, her long blond ponytail swinging side-to-side.
“Nope. Colby took it,” she replied, twisting her shoulders as she spoke.
Colin shook his head and turned to his other daughter, who followed Juliette into the room.
“Is this true, Colby?”
“Colby took it,” the girl repeated, imitating her sister.
Colin turned to Ryanne, but she had already made her way to the sink, taking his half-finished bowl of cereal with her.
And Ryanne took mine.
“Come on, guys. No fighting this morning, okay? Daddy’s tired. Just finish your breakfa
st and then put your shoes and jackets on.”
Juliette looked at him as if he had two heads.
“I told you already, I didn’t get a chance to eat it. She took it.”
Colin turned to Colby who, unlike her sister, had her hair tied on the top of her head in a bun. With a sigh, he said, “Did you, Colby? Did you take Juliette’s breakfast?”
Colby shrugged.
“So what if I did? I’m the older sister, and if I want another bowl of cereal, I can have one. If we weren’t so poor, then maybe we could all have two bowls of cereal. Carla Banks gets to have as much cereal as she wants, you know.”
Colin’s eyes bulged.
How does a seven-year-old get so much sass?
“You’re only six minutes older than me!” Juliette cried, missing the point entirely. “Six minutes!”
“That’s enough,” Ryanne snapped, as she leaned over the sink, her back to them. “Get your shoes on, and if you keep bickering, then nobody is going to get dinner tonight.”
And there it was: the anger from the night before creeping back into her voice.
She’s getting worse, Colin thought. It used to only be me she yelled at, but now she’s getting short with the kids as well.
Colby pursed her lips and pushed her chin into the air.
“I’m still older. Six minutes, six hours, what does it matter? I’m the big sister.”
Colin sighed and rubbed at his sore calves.
“That’s enough!” Ryanne bellowed. She slammed her hands on the side of the sink and spun around. “That’s enough!”
Colin cringed, thinking about the neighbors, hoping that they were already at work.
What had the police officer said? If we come back, we’re going to have to keep you separated for the night. Maybe even bring child services in.
“Please, Ryanne, it’s fine. I’ll take them to school today.”
Ryanne’s eyes blazed into him, a scowl forming on her lips. Colin quickly stood and put his arms around his girls and guided them toward the front door before his wife could get her hooks in.
“C’mon girls, put your shoes and coats on quickly, okay? We’re going to be late for school.”
Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 1 Page 52