“You’re going to fucking pay for this! Colin, you’re going to pay!”
Chapter 43
Chase’s best guess had been three hours.
She was wrong: photographs of the body were online in under an hour. To make things worse, there were several of her in the shot, sprinting toward the body that hung nude in the distance. In the photo, her face was almost unrecognizable.
Old.
“Shit,” she grumbled, forcing herself to turn off her computer monitor.
Another body, another book.
Chase picked up the phone and dialed down to records.
“Dunbar? Tell me you managed to narrow down the search for the author? For R.S. Germaine?”
Dunbar hesitated before answering, and Chase felt her stomach drop.
“No. Nothing yet. But we have another problem.”
Chase frowned.
“What?”
“The book—Red Smile? It’s rising up the ranks. Jumped up to sub 8k in the last hour.”
Chase closed her eyes.
“What does that mean, Dunbar? Speak English.”
“It means that it’s starting to move. People are buying it.”
Chase’s eyes snapped open.
This was turning out to be the worst day ever. Starting with the goddamn debacle of a press conference. Before she could reply, there was a heavy knock on her office door.
“Hold on a sec,” she told Dunbar as she stood and made her way toward it.
When she opened it, she felt her heart sink all the way to the pit of her stomach.
Less than two months ago, Officers Lincoln and Herd from Internal Affairs had come for Sergeant Rhodes. Today, they were here for her.
Final Act
Chapter 44
Images of the young woman hanging from the goalpost, her throat slashed, filled Drake’s mind as he drove back to Triple D.
All to the soundtrack of shouting protesters…
Despite Chase’s warning, Drake had gone ahead and watched the Sergeant’s press conference after all.
And he had cringed the entire time.
How could she say that? What the hell was going through her mind?
He knew that Chase meant well, but her phrasing had been… off. Insensitive, callous, even. The worst part was that it hadn’t sounded like her at all. Truthfully, even to Drake who was about as sensitive to political correctness as a rounded stone, it did sound as if she were blaming the victims.
Snow was falling heavily again, and Drake flicked the windshield wipers on high.
When he had been Chase’s partner, she had addressed the media several times. And each time, she had been authoritative and showed a level of composure that had impressed him. But that had been with Rhodes watching on, his beady eyes staring at her as much as the crowd. He had been her support mechanism, as much as it pained Drake to say so, and it was apparent that she needed one.
Like Drake, it was beginning to become clear that she was better off behind the scenes instead of in front of the camera lens.
Pulling his Crown Vic into the parking lot, Drake parked but left the car running, and the heater on, as he checked his phone.
There were two missed calls, one from Screech and one from an unlisted number. Neither had left a message and yet he had a sneaking suspicion that the second call was from Raul.
It was almost as if he could smell the creepy bastard through the phone line.
A shudder ran through him, and he turned off the car and opened the door. The cold hit him like an ice water enema, and Drake tucked his chin down low to protect himself from the brunt of the wind. He hurried across the parking lot and yanked the door to Triple D wide.
“Screech?” he said as he stepped inside. He removed his coat and hat and hung them on the wooden rack beside the door.
“Right here, boss,” Screech replied from the bathroom.
Drake sighed. It was like Groundhog Day.
“You ever leave, Screech? You’re always—”
The door to the bathroom opened and Screech stepped out. He was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt, cargo shorts, and a straw hat.
Drake gawked.
This is new…
“What the hell? Have you lost your mind?”
Screech laughed.
“Probably… working with you will do that to anyone,” he moved toward his desk, beside which Drake saw a small suitcase packed and ready to go.
“No, seriously, where are you going?”
Screech picked up his bag and slung it over one shoulder.
“Going on vacation. The weather is shit and your company is as about as much fun as a brooding demon on her rag.”
Drake blinked. He was caught off guard, and while his initial reaction was to tell him he couldn’t go—they were, in fact, hunting a serial killer—he reminded himself that Screech could do as he pleased.
He was, after all, half owner of Triple D.
“Aaaaaand,” Screech continued, clearly noticing Drake’s expression, “I’ve got a Yacht to find. Caught some chatter on the net about a yacht in the Virgin Gorda, one with a very distinctive name. B-yacht’ch.”
Drake stared for a moment longer. He had told Screech to look after the missing yacht, and if the man got a vacation out of the deal, so what?
Screech deserved it.
“Knock yourself out. Bring back some pirate’s booty, would ya?” he said as he made his way toward his office.
Drake expected Screech to nod, maybe come over and shake hands, and then leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there, staring at Drake, a queer expression on his face.
“Honestly? I also wanted to get away before the shit storm rains down diarrhea.”
Drake stopped mid-step.
“What?”
“You haven’t read the news yet, have you? Jesus, man, what was the point of setting up that fancy phone if you—”
“I’ve been busy working, Screech. What are you talking about?”
Screech swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Yeah, well, you know your favorite books? They just made the top ten list.”
Drake screwed up his face.
Favorite books?
“Red Smile,” Screech specified.
Drake gasped.
“It looks like your buddy Ivan somehow got wind of the whole deal, wrote all about how Red Smile is based on real murders, on an active investigation.”
Drake’s heart migrated from the pit of his stomach to his throat. He actually retched.
“Wh-what?”
Screech shrugged.
“Some asshole leaked the news, apparently. And now the books are selling like mad. Sick fucks, I tell ya. Sick fucks buying it up like crazy.”
Drake could hear his blood pounding in his ears like a bass drum line.
Screech swallowed again, then checked a watch that he wasn’t wearing.
“Welp, looks like I better go, got a plane to catch.”
Drake watched the man walk backward towards the door.
“Good luck, Drake,” he said, and then his partner was gone.
Drake stood in the main lobby of Triple D for what felt like an hour.
An asshole leaked the news to him.
An image of the dead bodies, first those at the barn, buried in hay, then the poor woman hanging from the goalpost flashed.
Everyone was reading about them now; their families, their friends. The killer was probably laughing at them all, most of all him and Chase.
Fury suddenly usurped bewilderment, and Drake reached inside his sport coat pocket. He grabbed the e-reader and pulled it out. Somehow, he must have turned it on, because he found himself staring at the horrible image of the woman with the blood-stained lips.
Without thinking, Drake hurled the e-reader across the room. It struck the wall behind Screech’s desk and the screen shattered, raining thousands of tiny pieces of glass or plastic or fucking unobtanium or whatever the screen was made of to the floor
.
He cursed loudly, then grit his teeth.
An asshole leaked the news to Ivan Meitzer. And I’m that asshole.
Again.
Chapter 45
“Give me one more day!” Chase pleaded. “Just one more day. I don’t give a shit about the images online or what Twitter is saying. I care about the dead women… and the next victim. Because mark my words, there will be another murder. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already kidnapped someone.”
Officer Herd stared at her for a moment. He was a short, awkward-looking man, with an unusually small space between his nose and upper lip that not even his thick mustache could disguise.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Adams, but I’m just doing my job. Assistant Deputy Inspector Roger Albright said that you were to be relieved of your duty,” his dark eyes softened somewhat. “It’s only temporary, until this all blows over.”
Chase could read between the lines; Rhodes’s suspension was supposed to be temporary, too, but last she heard the bald bastard had become a hermit up Vermont somewhere.
She shook her head.
“We’re close, Officer Herd. Really close. Just take a walk, come back later. Tell Roger you couldn’t find me. Anything, just let me solve this case. Please. If we have to start over…” she let her sentence trail off.
For a moment, Officer Herd looked like he might give in to her pleas, but then Officer Lincoln stepped forward.
“Sergeant Adams, I’m sorry, but—”
A fourth person entered the small office just then, and all eyes turned to him.
“You’re sorry? For what? Because you interrupted a federal agent in the middle of an investigation? Why? Because some social justice warriors think that she made some sexist remarks?” Agent Stitts said angrily. He strode forward, and Chase thought she saw Herd flinch. “Chase was trying to protect people, women in particular. This isn’t some power play, or some bullshit political ploy. This is about saving lives. Why don’t you take that up with Deputy Inspector Albright? Hmmm?”
Herd’s upper lip curled, while Lincoln looked generally confused.
As did Chase.
Federal Agent? What the hell is he talking about? Is he saying that I’m an agent, or is he speaking about himself?
“I’ll talk to Inspector Albright,” Herd said at last.
“Yeah, you do that. In the meantime, let us stop a fucking killer, alright?”
With that, Agent Stitts stepped fully into the room, and the other two officers took their cue to exit.
Chase rose and shut the door behind them, briefly considering locking it in case the men changed their mind.
She left it unlocked.
“What the hell was that?” she asked.
Stitts smirked.
“What? I fudged the truth a little. You know how it is. As soon as I saw the images online of the crime scene, of you running through the snow, I figured this was coming. And then with the Meitzer article…”
Chase’s eyes narrowed.
“The what?”
Agent Stitts hesitated before answering.
“You don’t know? Shit; it’s out, Chase. The cat is out of the proverbial bag.”
Chase wasn’t sure if it was the cold weather, the shock of almost being suspended, but either way, she wasn’t grasping what Stitts was saying.
“Jesus, is this some sort of FBI code that I’m just not getting? I mean—”
“Ivan Meitzer from the Times just posted an online article about the murders and the books… the print version will be in tomorrow’s paper. And now Red Smile is just flying off the virtual shelves; people just can’t get enough. And this is only the beginning.”
Chase’s heart palpitated in her chest.
“How? What?” she paused for a second, her eyes narrowing. “Did you say Ivan Meitzer published the article?”
Agent Stitts nodded.
“You know him?”
Chase swore under her breath.
“I don’t, but I know someone who does.”
Chapter 46
“I was just trying to help! You said to do what I can, and that’s what I did. Ivan was my contact and he—”
“Every time you try to help, something gets fucked up!” Chase shot back. “Every time!”
Drake shook his head, trying to stem the fury that brewed inside him.
“I thought he could—”
“Keep your voice down,” Chase instructed.
“—help, provide some information, use his contacts in the publishing industry to find out who the real author of Red Smile is.”
Chase shook her head, then looked over at Agent Stitts, who appeared confused.
Confused, and none too happy about the situation. Although the agent had yet to explicitly state his dislike for Drake, it was all over his face.
“Yeah, you heard right. He thought that Ivan Meitzer, the same one who has it out for him, would help solve the investigation. That he wouldn’t print what he told him.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Chase. Speak to me, not to—”
Chase’s eyes whipped around.
“Speak to you? Speak to you? That’s the problem, Drake. You don’t fucking listen. Don’t you get it? I brought you onboard here, and it’s my ass on the line. Not yours. You’ve got other… shady… business going on, don’t you? I mean, I make money, sure, but you know where I get it from. But how about you? Where are you getting the envelopes of cash that you keep dropping off to your dead partner’s wife?”
Drake was floored.
How does she know about that? Is she following me? Is that it?
“There’s nothing shady about Triple D, Chase,” he said, trying to skirt the subject. “And I—”
“Uhh, I’d love to sit here and listen to mommy and daddy fight all day,” Agent Stitts interrupted, “But we just don’t have the time. The book is selling now, but tomorrow when the Times article is out in paper form, it’s going to be a real shit-show. We need to get on this now, before we’re completely drowned in copycats and dead-end tips. And before Herd and Lincoln return.”
Drake was still fuming, but Agent Stitts level-headed words struck a chord with him.
The man was right; they were going to be overwhelmed starting tomorrow morning. Time was one thing that they just didn’t have.
And that said nothing of the killer’s next victim.
How long before he kills again? A day? Two at best?
Drake took a deep breath, his eyes darting over to Chase. She was pissed, too, but he could also see that she was over her head, and maybe a little scared, too.
She wasn’t ready for Sergeant, and perhaps never would be. She was a field agent, and that was where she belonged.
“I’m sorry,” he said, attempting to bury the hatchet. “I was trying to help, but I fucked things up. I get that. Nothing I can do about it now will change the facts. Let’s just move on, alright?”
Chase bit her lip and looked as if she wanted to say more, to further berate him, but she held back. Eventually, cooler heads prevailed, and she turned to Stitts.
“No luck pulling the books from online retailers, I guess.”
Stitts shook his head.
“Not happening. At least not without a court order,” he looked over at Drake. “With the news breaking now, it might actually be easier to get one, but it will still take a few days.”
Chase frowned.
“Days we don’t have. The killer’s cooling off period is slowing. Drake, you still have the e-reader? What are the time stamps between the books?”
Drake felt his face flush, remembering how in a fit of rage he had thrown it across the room.
When he had regained control, he had tried to put it back together, but it was impossible.
The screen was completely destroyed.
“I don’t have it,” he said softly.
“You what?”
Drake shrugged.
“I don’t—”
The door to the co
nference room suddenly burst open, and a red-faced Detective Yasiv burst through.
“Chase? Chase?” he asked, his eyes darting.
“You ever hear of knocking?”
Yasiv’s face reddened until it was almost purple.
“Sorry, it’s just—there’s someone here to see you.”
“Who? This better be—”
Yasiv swallowed hard.
“It’s a woman… and she says she’s been raped by your killer—by the author of Red Smile.”
Chapter 47
Chase strode down the hall with Drake and Agent Stitts at her side, and Detective Yasiv taking up the rear.
She moved briskly, ignoring the stares from everyone in the precinct, knowing that the news of IA coming to her office must have already been going around.
Raped by the killer?
It must have been some sort of hoax given that the news of the book had just broken, but given the severity of the accusation, and considering the public outcry at her choice of words at the media address the other day, she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Interrogation Room 1, you said?” she asked over her shoulder.
Yasiv hurried to keep up.
“Yes—Room 1. She came in less than an hour ago, said she would only speak to you.”
Chase nodded and broke into a walk so fast that it was nearly a jog. Instead of taking the elevator, she opted for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, she quickly found herself outside the door marked INTERROGATION ROOM 1, and was reminded of being here with Tim Jenkins, Drake furious, insisting that this wasn’t their guy, that he wasn’t the Butterfly Killer.
The last time that she had seen Tim Jenkins alive.
Chase shook her head, clearing her thoughts, then turned to her entourage.
“She said she only wants to talk to me, so I’ll go in alone. You guys head into the adjacent room; you can watch and listen on the monitor.” Then to Yasiv, she said, “You notify medical? If she’s been raped, we should swab her and run the kit as soon as possible. Did she say how long ago the attack happened?”
Yasiv shook his head.
“She said she would only talk to you. Wouldn’t even tell us her name. And medical is on their way.”
Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 1 Page 67