Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 1

by Patrick Logan

  Without thinking, Drake continued to advance. He noticed that the man had long, blond hair obscuring his face, the tips of which were tinged red.

  Still blinking rapidly from the bright light off to his left, he pressed the first two fingers of his hand still holding his phone to the man’s neck.

  A pulse… he has a pulse.

  Drake slipped the phone into his pocket and then gingerly put a hand on the man’s chin, raising his face to look at him.

  All of the breath was sucked from his lungs.

  Both of the man’s eyes were dark, the surrounding area bruised, and blood trickled from his nose, sliding over the ragged piece of duct tape that covered his mouth.

  And yet, despite his injuries, Drake recognized the man.

  It was Ivan Meitzer.

  “I see you’ve become acquainted,” a voice said from behind him, and Drake spun around, leading with the pistol.

  Chapter 55

  “I ain’t telling you shit. I don’t gotta even speak to you.”

  Chase leaned away from the man, a scowl on her face.

  “Listen, Colin, you can—”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times already! My name is not Colin! It’s Glenn—Glenn Happ! It’s on my license,” he reached out, but the cord connecting the cuffs on his wrists to the table reached its length, and his arms snapped back.

  “Shit! Just look at my wallet! I’ve got everything in there, Social Security, Driver’s License, everything!”

  Chase’s frown deepened.

  “If you aren’t Colin Elliot, then why were you in his bed? With his wife? That was his wife, correct? Or is this all a misunderstanding? Got the wrong house, maybe? The kids? What about the twin girls who go by the names of Colby and Juliette Elliot?”

  The man who claimed not to be Colin threw his head back and swore.

  “I’m not Colin! I was sleeping with his wife, but I’m not him!”

  Chase turned to look at the two-way glass, behind which he knew that both Officer Dunbar and Agent Stitts were watching, and hopefully investigating the man’s claims.

  “I don’t care what your name is, you can call yourself Colin or Glenn or Miss fucking Marple for all I care. You killed those girls, and we’re going to prove it in court,” Chase sighed, watching the man closely for any hint of fear, of remorse, of anything.

  But all she saw was anger in his round features.

  “Or you can just cut us all a break, and tell us why you did it, why you killed those girls.”

  The man pushed his lips together tightly in sheer defiance.

  “No? Not ready to man up and admit what you’ve done?” Chase mock checked her watch. “Fine, it’s still early. You’ve got time. Why don’t you start with the books, then? Tell me why you wrote the books. Was it just for money?”

  The man’s face contorted.

  “Books? Look, lady, I don’t have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. I didn’t write no books.” He tried to cross his arms over his chest, but the chains were too short and he ended up just awkwardly crossing his forearms.

  “What about Hanna? Tell me about Hanna. You raped her after one of your writing classes.”

  “What in all hell are you talking about? Hanna? Who the fuck is Hanna? And writing classes? I’m a fucking landlord for Christ’s sake.”

  There was a knock on the door, but Chase ignored it.

  “I know you killed those girls, Colin,” she whispered, leaning across the table.

  Chase hoped that her true suspicions didn’t come through in her words. Sure, it could all be an act, but this didn’t sound like any writer she knew. Chase had read the first two parts of Red Smile on Drake’s e-reader, and while the work was far from literary genius, it included several three-syllable words that she would bet a nickel the man across from her wouldn’t be able to pronounce, let alone spell.

  “I told you, I’m not Colin,” the man hissed. Then his pale lips broke into a smile, revealing a chipped front tooth. “And I’ll tell you something else, too; that dipshit Colin didn’t kill nobody, either. He’s as limp-dicked as they come. You’re barking up the wrong fucking tree, lady.”

  Chase felt warmth rise in her cheeks and was about to shout something back, when the knock on the door returned.

  She pointed a finger at the man’s face.

  “This isn’t over,” she promised.

  The man laughed as Chase made her way to the door. Agent Stitts poked his head in and indicated for her to come out.

  Chase didn’t look back.

  Agent Stitts was silent as he led her to the adjacent room.

  “What?” Chase asked once the door was firmly closed behind them.

  Still, Stitts didn’t speak. Instead, he looked over at Dunbar who, with a sour expression etched on his face, turned the laptop around for her to see.

  On the screen was a photograph of the man on the other side of the two-way mirror, only younger, with slightly thicker blond hair and a front tooth that had yet to be chipped.

  “Yeah, that’s him. So what?”

  “Look at the name,” Stitts said, finally breaking his silence. Chase squinted and took a step forward, her eyes scanning the screen.

  “Shit,” she whispered, her heart sinking.

  The name at the bottom of the photograph read Glenn Happ.

  Chase turned and stared at the fat man chained to the table in the other room.

  “Jesus Christ, we got the wrong guy.”

  And the killer’s still out there.

  Chapter 56

  “What the fuck is going on, Raul? What is Ivan doing here?” Drake asked, keeping his gun aimed directly at the center of the man’s chest.

  Raul stepped out of the shadows and into the light. He wasn’t wearing his typical butler-esque attire, but something more befitting of the locale: loose-fitting track pants, a dark sweatshirt, the hood of which was pulled back revealing his pitch-black hair.

  Raul didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to walk toward Ivan, keeping a safe distance from Drake.

  “Raul, I don’t know if your eyes are still fucked from the light, but I’ve got a gun pointed at your chest. I think it’s about time you start answering my questions.”

  Raul still said nothing, and this time Drake thought he saw a smirk slide out from under his wiry black mustache.

  “Raul? I’m not fucking around anymore. I’ve had one helluva a day, and I ain’t in the mood for games.”

  Raul made it to Ivan, and was within half a dozen feet of Drake himself, when he reached down and grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair.

  Drake saw blood on his knuckles as he yanked Ivan’s head back.

  “You know Ivan, don’t you?”

  This time Drake remained silent.

  “Of course you do. But we know Ivan, as well.”

  Raul slapped Ivan across the face, and the sound echoed throughout the hangar.

  Drake’s finger moved from the trigger guard to the trigger itself.

  “Hit him again and I’ll put a hole in your spine, Raul. I mean it.”

  Raul ignored him and waited. After several seconds, Ivan’s eyes fluttered and then they opened—wide.

  His gaze jumped from Raul to Drake, and then his mouth started to move behind the duct tape, generating incomprehensible muffled.

  “You see, Drake. You weren’t the only one to pay Ivan to perform a task,” Raul said, his accent suddenly so thick that Drake had a hard time understanding him. “But there’s something that you need to know about Ken Smith. He is a man with strong loyalty; he’s loyal to his family, his friends, the people he employs, and last, but not least, to the citizens of New York. And this,” Raul reared back and slapped Ivan again, this time hard enough for the man’s head to snap backward.

  “Hey!” Drake shouted, stepping forward and applying pressure to the trigger. “I warned you, Raul, step away—”

  But Raul continued as if nothing had happened.

  “This prick decided that it
was more important to fuck you over than it was to be loyal to Mr. Smith or to New York. Seems like everyone who has read the news think they know you. But what they don’t know is that you work for us now. And with that comes a level of respect.”

  Raul crouched down in front of Ivan, his back now fully turned to Drake.

  Drake seized the opportunity and silently moved forward.

  “Isn’t that right, Ivan?”

  Drake was so close to the man now that he could smell his cheap cologne. With his free hand, he reached out and—

  His phone in his pocket suddenly buzzed.

  The distraction only lasted a fraction of a second, but that was all Raul needed.

  Drake glanced down at his pocket, and before he could look up again, Raul had stood, turned, and somehow yanked the gun from his hand, despite his grip.

  Raul was lightning fast, faster than Drake thought humanly possible.

  Drake cried out and instinctively lunged for Raul, but the man easily sidestepped him and held the gun up.

  Drake stumbled, landing awkwardly on Ivan’s lap. The man grunted and groaned, and Drake pushed him backward as he stood.

  He glared at Raul, amazed at how quickly their roles had reversed.

  “You gonna shoot me now, is that it?” he sneered.

  Raul smirked again, an expression that made ice shoot up Drake’s spine.

  “Is that why you brought me here? To shoot me? Kill me and Ivan so that you and Ken can… can what? Take over the world?”

  “No, senor, I’m not here to hurt you,” Raul gestured to Ivan with the barrel of the gun. “Ken did this for you. He wanted to show you that he was loyal to you, the way he expects you to be loyal to him.”

  Drake scoffed.

  “For me? Listen, bud, I don’t know what kind of fucked up place you were brought up in, but that isn’t the way it works here. Not in New York. Shit, not in America.”

  Raul’s cheek twitched.

  “Isn’t it? It’s working now.”

  Drake scowled, but had no reply.

  “You want a shot at him?”

  “What? Are you insane?”

  Raul shrugged and raised the gun, this time aiming it at Ivan. The man’s furious breathing sounded like a jet engine from behind the tape. He started to struggle, but the binds were tight.

  “Woah! Woah!” Drake said, putting his hands up. “Easy now.”

  Raul suddenly spun, and for a split second, Drake thought that the gig was up, that Raul was going to pull the trigger and put an end to this whole mess.

  But Raul didn’t shoot. Instead, he flipped the gun around and held it out to Drake.

  Drake lunged forward and snatched it from the man. Raul’s other hand snaked into his jacket and once again Drake found himself pointing the gun at him.

  Only this time he aimed it at his head instead of his chest.

  “Easy!”

  Raul’s movements slowed, but he continued to reach into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

  Sweat beaded on Drake’s forehead despite the frigid temperature inside the hangar, but he relaxed when Raul pulled out a yellow envelope.

  “Go on, take it,” Raul insisted. “It’s yours, after all.”

  Drake eyed it suspiciously, but recognition swept over him and he snatched it from Raul’s fingers.

  As he did, Raul’s sweatshirt pulled up, revealing a strange tattoo on his forearm that looked to Drake like a coiled snake devouring an eyeball.

  Raul pulled back, and Drake’s eyes focused on the envelope. There was a smear of blood on the corner, but he knew it was the same one he had given Ivan yesterday.

  Drake tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.

  “What are you going to do to him?” he asked.

  Raul shrugged.

  “It’s already been done. Ivan has learned his lesson. Haven’t you, Ivan?”

  Ivan, still puffing as if he were on the verge of hyperventilating, nodded violently.

  “Good.”

  Drake’s phone buzzed in his pocket again, but this time he resisted the urge to look down.

  “You should answer that,” Raul suggested. A moment later, the light clicked out, leaving Drake in total darkness.

  Survival instincts took over, and Drake spun around, locating the sliver of moonlight that eked in from the open hangar door. Without thinking, he sprinted toward it.

  Several seconds later, he found himself in the cold, and a few seconds after that, he was back in the relative safety of his Crown Vic.

  What the hell just happened? What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  His phone buzzed a third time, and with a trembling hand, the other still clutching the pistol tightly, he answered it.

  “Drake,” he croaked.

  “Drake, it’s Chase. We fucked up.”

  Drake shook his head.

  “What? What happened?”

  “We got the wrong guy. Colin’s still out there and we need to find him. We need to find him before this shit blows up tomorrow.”

  An image of Ivan, his mouth taped, his eyes bruised and blackened flashed in his mind.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about that anymore,” he whispered.

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  Drake shook his head and cleared his throat.

  “Nothing. Never mind. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  Chapter 57

  Chase hung up the phone and then turned back to Agent Stitts.

  “I’m going to talk to him again. Just because he isn’t Colin Elliot, doesn’t mean he isn’t our guy,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

  Agent Stitts eyed her suspiciously for a moment.

  “What’s your gut telling you?”

  Chase sneered.

  “My gut’s telling me that we fucked up.”

  With that, she headed out of the room and back into Interrogation Room 6.

  “Glenn,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve got some questions for you.”

  The man smirked; he actually smirked.

  “Did yer boss tell you that I ain’t Colin? That I’m not a spineless prick that hit his wife?”

  Chase made a mental note of the comment, along with a reminder to speak to Ryanne Elliot after she was through at the hospital.

  “How do you know Colin and his wife?”

  Glenn pursed his lips, and while he was clearly trying to be defiant, she knew what type of man he was.

  She knew that she could get him to talk.

  “I told you already, I was sleeping with Ryanne.”

  “And how did you first meet her?”

  Another shrug.

  “I’m their landlord,” a disgusting smile suddenly appeared on the man’s face. “That bastard Colin couldn’t pay the rent one month, and Ryanne came to me pleading for an extension. One thing led to another and…”

  Glenn brought up two fingers and rammed them into a hole he made with his other hand.

  Then he laughed.

  “Ya, you know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Chase tried to keep her emotions in check. The more she spoke to the man, the less likely she thought that he was involved with either the books or the murders. And yet he was a despicable human being if there ever was one.

  “Cute,” she replied. “Tell me about Colin.”

  “Like I said, he’s a spineless dweeb. Only met him a few times. He let his wife deal with all of the finances. When she spoke about him, she usually just blathered on about how he was trying to write books, about how he didn’t even know how to do that good. Alls I know is that he couldn’t do anything good, including keeping her happy, if you know what I mean.”

  Chase tapped a finger on the table.

  “You know what gets me about this?”

  “What?”

  “We haul you in, start asking questions, accuse you of murder, and you don’t even ask for a lawyer.”

  Again with the chipped-tooth smile.

  “Why do I need a la
wyer? I didn’t do nothing.”

  “So you say. But I promise you this: if you had anything to do with the murders, even if you just knew about them and sat back and did nothing, you’re going to rot in a cell for a long time. A long, long time.”

  With that, Chase stood and started toward the door. Only now did the smile slide off Glenn’s face.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  Chase knocked on the door.

  “Hey, lady, can I go now? I answered your damn questions?”

  The door opened, and Agent Stitts stood in the entrance.

  “Hey! Hey! What do I do now?”

  “Get a lawyer,” Chase said over her shoulder as she left the room.

  Chapter 58

  Drake was sick of being everyone’s errand boy, be it Chase, Ivan, or Ken that gave the orders.

  And yet he found himself driving into the storm, heading toward another obscure address with instructions that were as vague as those from Raul, which had led him to the hangar in the first place.

  Dunbar found a property in the outskirts of the city, a farm or something that had once been Colin’s father’s. I want you to go check it out, see if he’s there and bring him in. There’s an APB out for Colin’s arrest, and the police are busy combing the area around his house. If he pops up, we’ll grab him.

  As he drove, Drake’s mind kept turning back to the scene in the hangar, about his curious decision to leave the place. To not arrest Raul.

  And not telling Chase about what had happened.

  Then there was the strange tattoo of the snake eating the eye on Raul’s forearm.

  When Screech is back from vacation, I’m going to have him look deeper into Raul and Ken Smith, to see what they were all about. About their past.

  When he had first met Ken Smith less than a year ago, it had been in the wake of his son’s death. Even then, he knew that Ken Smith wasn’t normal, that there was something off about him, something that transcended a man hellbent on acquiring power, on becoming the mayor of New York City. Now, however, he was beginning to think that his radar had been off.

  The man wasn’t just a callous prick, but Drake was beginning to think that he was far, far worse.