Ruin

by Jette Harris

  “Oh, good.” She shifted and leaned her head on his shoulder, adjusting a few times until her shoulder was comfortable.

  Steyer frowned at her and exchanged a confused glance with Byron.

  “Whatever they gave her at the hospital made her very affectionate,” Byron explained.

  “There’s no way that could go wrong.” Steyer sighed. “I… Heather… I came to inform you that I am no longer leading the investigation.”

  She jerked her head up.

  “I’ve passed it off to Agent Remington. I’m confident…” He trailed off, his confidence having been shattered of late.

  “So, he’s in charge, and you…”

  “I’m retiring. For real this time.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Is… is this because of today?”

  Steyer looked down at his hands so he didn’t have to see the hurt in her eyes. He nodded. “It is.”

  “No, you can’t!” She struggled to her knees. “I’m sorry! You can’t leave; We need you!”

  “This investigation will continue without me. The Bureau will send another agent, maybe two—”

  “It was my idea, not Remington’s. I convinced him to go behind your back.”

  He jerked his head up to look into her eyes.

  “And it worked–it worked; He took the bait; We just… I was too far out and we didn’t have enough people, and—”

  “Heather, please stop.”

  Byron wrapped an arm around her torso and pulled her down to sit against him. “Alright, time to calm down.”

  Heather exhaled slowly, regaining her composure. “Listen, go… go somewhere public. The coffee shop. And… And call your Johnny. Tell him you’re off the case. Tell him why. And Avery… he’ll come to you. He’ll reach out. He’ll slip up, because he likes you. He likes you for the same reason he likes me. He’ll reach out and slip up, and we’ll catch him. This’ll all be over. Then you can leave. You can retire with this to crown your career.”

  That would work. Steyer shook his head and scoffed. “Heather, it’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late. We are still alive.” Her voice cracked. “At least… at least come to the memorial.”

  Steyer sighed, rubbing his face. “OK. I can do that.”

  “And what will you say when he calls you?”

  “I’ll tell him the same thing I’ll tell everyone else: Refer to Agent Remington.”

  “We can catch him there, you know.” Her voice was low. “He’ll be there.”

  An odd, determined expression settled over her face. For the first time, Steyer felt he was looking at the girl the Phoenix had fallen in love with. And he understood.

  “I doubt that very much. There will be dozens of officers and at least five people there who can identify him.”

  “I can make sure he’ll be there.”

  Steyer sighed and rose slowly to his feet. “Heather…” He shook his head. “Please refer that to Agent Remington.”

  “But you’ll be there, right?”

  Steyer paused by the door. “Yes, of course I’ll be there.”

  Heather hunkered down against Byron, practically pouting. He wrapped his arm across her.

  “This is a bummer,” he said. “Now we’re not going to be able to call you Agents Grumpy and Hotpants.”

  Steyer snorted his amusement, but Heather covered her mouth and squealed with laughter. They stared at her as she clutched her ribs and fell to the floor.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow…”

  “Those must be some good drugs,” Byron said.

  ****

  Byron snored softly, but Heather’s eyes were wide open. She had been laying like that for hours, although her body was numb from the pain-killers. Whatever they had given her at the hospital was mixing badly and making her stomach revolt. She debated several times moving into the bathroom and setting up camp in there, but didn’t.

  She turned over the day’s events and Steyer’s news, wondering if she should be panicking. Given the circumstances, she felt oddly calm.

  The cell phone on her bedside table lit up. The police had ordered her to keep it off unless there was an emergency. Urgent messages would be delivered to her through her police detail. But as soon as Byron fell asleep, she turned it on. Although she didn’t have a plan, she wasn’t about to give up.

  Slowly, she slipped out of bed and took the phone into the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, she slid down to the floor and answered. “Hello?”

  A sigh of relief answered her. “How are your injuries?”

  Heather scowled. “They were talking about putting a metal frame over my shoulder.”

  “External fixation.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” If felt good to mouth off to Rhodes, knowing he might be far away, unable to reach her. It was almost too easy to talk to him on the phone.

  “Are you home now?”

  “You should already know the answer to that question.”

  “I took your advice and found a hole to hide in.”

  “I could get you a protective police detail PDQ.”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  A wave of nausea washed over her. She closed her eyes with a groan and shifted to her knees.

  “I recognize that sound.”

  “Mm-hm.” Heather cracked her eyes, the last piece of her plan falling into place. “My night-time meds have been making me sick. Most mornings…”

  “Morning sickness.”

  “What?” She tried to sound alarmed; Her excitement made it easy.

  “You’re getting sick in the morning.”

  “I’m sick right now.”

  “It’s almost morning.”

  “Shit…” She struggled to remember symptoms Lauri had when she was pregnant with Devin. “I couldn’t get to sleep. I had heartburn or something.”

  Rhodes was silent for a moment. “Don’t go to sleep. Step outside. I’ll come get you.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I can make you feel better.” His tone had an urgency that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “You broke me.”

  “I put you together again.”

  “And then you broke me again.” She pushed herself up with another groan, this time real.

  “I didn’t shove you down that hill. I just wanted you to get into the truck. C’mon, Heather, let me take you home.”

  “I am home.”

  “I’ll make you happy. I know I can. Eventually, there will be no need for locks and keys. I’ll give you a car so you can go to school. You can have a career. Just come with me, and I can make it happen.”

  “I can make that happen.” She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered her conversation with UGA “It was going to happen until… you… fucking… killed me.”

  Rhodes fell silent. Acid rose in her throat again. She grunted as she threw her head back and swallowed hard.

  “Heather, we need to go soon,” he said softly.

  “You go on. Give me an address. I’ll catch up.” She groaned again. “Fuck…”

  “I can bring you a Ginger Ale.”

  “Mm.” Mom had gestational diabetes something awful. “I can’t have the sugar. Dr. Scarrott said it’s too high.”

  She could hear his breath catch in his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Nn… Tomorrow’s no good. Busy tomorrow.”

  “I know. Oh, I know… Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

  “Mm-hm.” Her heart raced. It had worked.

  “I love you, Heather Stokes.”

  The acid rose in her throat again. She clenched her teeth and struggled to get it back down. “I hope you fucking die, Avery Rhodes.”

  She hung up and let the phone fall to the floor. After several deep breaths, the acid rose again. Groaning, she threw herself at the toilet.

  12

  11 June 2006

  Sunday

  A blanket of thick, angry clouds blocked out the sky. Wind whipped Steyer’s jacket around a
s he climbed out of the taxi. He paid his driver, gave him a generous tip, and made his way across the parking lot to the Cheatham Hill High football field.

  The parking lot was crowded with law enforcement vehicles and news vans. The marching band milled around on the sidewalk, warming up their instruments and affixing black bands around the arms of their uniforms. Nearby, several young men in Cheatham Hill jerseys gathered around the bed of Charles Witt’s Nissan Titan. Dean, skipping his father’s funeral, sat on the tailgate, head down.

  The fence and railings were decorated with purple and black streamers. A stage had been erected before one of the goalposts. Several people in suits and dresses were decorating the stage and placing large photos of the three victims in strategic locations.

  Steyer recognized many other faces he had encountered in the course of the investigation. Debra Schafer, Cheatham Hill HR clerk, handed pamphlets out to people who entered the gate. Sergeant Young, wearing her dress blues, had her Labradors just inside the track. Steyer recognized Sydney Lancaster’s honey-blonde hair as she and some of the other cheerleaders found solace in hugging and petting the dogs. Dr. Magee and Deputy Moore, the school resource officer, greeted guests as they approached the gate. Dr. Creighton, the teacher the Phoenix substituted for, sagged on one of the chairs that were being set up on the field.

  Steyer skimmed the parking lot for other familiar faces. He took a few steps when he thought he saw Agent Remington, but it was Deputy Thrace leaning against the front of a Ford Taurus, staring down at his phone.

  Shouldn’t have skipped your coffee, Ritchie. A shudder ran down his spine as something unsettled him. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

  As he headed toward the gate, Remington pulled into the parking lot. Wickes sat shotgun. Steyer paused to see where they would park and made their way toward them.

  “I thought you were going home last night?” Remington climbed out and met Steyer by the trunk.

  “Heather asked me to come.” Steyer looked around, but no one appeared to be paying attention to them.

  “What’s wrong?” Wickes brushed a lock of hair that had been blown across her face.

  “I feel almost like I’m forgetting something.” He sighed. “Most likely me not adjusting to retirement.”

  She wrapped an arm around his waist and gave him an affectionate squeeze.

  “Do you know when Heather’s arriving? Who’s with her?”

  “Should be Kondorf and Byron. Her grandfather, of course.” Remington leaned back against the car. “I advised them to arrive right as the ceremony is supposed to begin, maybe even a little late.”

  “Good. Good… Good call…” The unsettled feeling grew stronger. He put a hand against his chest and looked around again. Dress blues and uniforms stood out across the parking lot and crowded around the field. Wickes and Remington followed his gaze.

  “Do you think he’s here?” She frowned at the thought.

  “It would be reckless, but I hope so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Heather’s not. And when she is, she’ll be surrounded by law enforcement.”

  Despite his leave, Chief Collins allowed Byron to wear his dress blues. He had only worn them twice: his induction ceremony and the funeral for a retiree he had never met. The jacket was tight around his shoulders. He kept shifting and adjusting.

  “Consider that a good sign,” Kondorf advised him. “Well-worn dress blues mean something is seriously wrong.”

  Something is seriously wrong. But Byron cracked a smile.

  ****

  Avery Rhodes leaned back against a Ford Taurus, hoping the owner wouldn’t storm over and make a scene. In one hand, he held a phone, waiting to feel it vibrate with Byron’s reply. In the other hand, he held a peach. He had been peeling the fur from the fruit carefully with his teeth, delaying the gratification of actually eating it.

  When he noticed Steyer arrive alone, his heart began to race. Almost time to go. He forced himself to wait until Remington pulled in. As usual, his suit was appropriately somber and perfectly-tailored.

  (Your ass looks delicious, but I bet you can’t run.)

  Rhodes sighed and shook his head. He never wanted to find out. Not anymore. He eyed the woman who had arrived with Remington enviously. She was appropriately fine.

  “Don’t, please,” Remington had sputtered the moment he could speak. “I need to meet my baby girl.”

  Rhodes found her baby bump. He guessed she was around ten weeks along, or twelve weeks and wearing it well.

  (I need to meet mine, too.) An image flashed through his mind of Heather in a similar state. His face flushed. He finally bit into the peach.

  His phone vibrated with a text.

  What time is this thing today?

  45 min. U comin?

  Where are you?

  Techs

  I’m coming to you.

  Rhodes spit out the peach pit and headed toward a car parked by the back exit.

  ****

  “You’re wearing that to the service?” Byron leaned over the porch railing to frown at Rhodes wearing Beaumont’s Class C’s.

  “Nope. I need to get home. Where’s Heather?”

  “She just hopped in the shower.” Although Byron turned to go inside, Rhodes leaned against the porch railing.

  “She OK?”

  Byron shrugged and joined him. “She’s acting OK, but she cries…” He trailed off, but “in her sleep” hung heavily in the air between them.

  Rhodes caught it. He pursed his lips and nodded. “You do what you said you were gonna do? Tell her you love her?”

  Shaking his head, Byron found a knot in one of the boards under their feet and stared at it. “She’s got a lot of pressure on her right now, you know? Timing’s not right.”

  “That is so true.” Rhodes pushed himself upright and slid his hands in his pockets. “You fucked her, though.” He cocked a brow.

  Byron’s face reddened as he met Rhodes’s dark eyes. Looking away again, he nodded.

  “Well… that will make this easier, then.” Rhodes pulled his hands from his pockets and flicked his wrist. The baton extended with a thnk! Byron only flinched as Rhodes swung it at his head with all his strength.

  The smell of coffee conflicted with the sweet taste of the peach still lingering in Rhodes’s mouth when he stepped into the house. He gazed up the stairs. In Heather’s room, a radio blared, not quite drowning out the sound of a shower.

  “Mornin’, deputy!” Kondorf chirped.

  Rhodes turned and followed Kondorf’s voice into the kitchen. “Mornin’, Tommy.”

  Kondorf poured the remainder of a pot of coffee into a mug. “Last cup. Want it?”

  “No, thank you.” Rhodes crossed the kitchen, swinging the baton over his head. The force of the blow split Kondorf’s skull to the brow. He dropped to his knees, the pot and mug clattering to the floor. Coffee spread across the floor.

  Rhodes had to twist the baton to pull it loose from Kondorf’s skull. The officer fell face-first into the coffee, red mixing with the brown. Rhodes slammed the tip of the baton between Kondorf’s shoulders to collapse it with enough force to make the body lurch with a sickening crack!

  Returning to the foot of the stairs, Rhodes gazed up to the second floor, mouth twitching. His heart raced as he started up.

  Remington tapped his wife’s arm. “Hey, baby, would you go stand with Chief Collins so I can have a word with Ritchie?”

  Despite his anxiousness, Steyer smirked at how natural it sounded for Remington to call her “baby,” after so many years of concealing their connection.

  “Of course.” She released Ritchie and kissed Remington’s cheek. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from his face and crossed the parking lot. They watched her in concerned silence, as if the Phoenix could screech up and grab her before everyone.

  “You seem to be settling into married life comfortably,” Steyer said as soon as she made the sidewalk.

  “I’m making
a strong effort.” Remington took a deep breath and turned to face his former partner. “Look, Ritchie… it wasn’t about the case. I was just angry. And scared. I’m sorry.”

  “I know…” Steyer toyed with and dismissed recanting his retirement once more. “You’ll do fine. Maybe the responsibility is just what you need.”

  Remington shook his head. “I don’t see how I’m gonna do this. Hell, Heather still freaks out every time I walk into the room.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I was lookin’ over your notes from yesterday, from the junk yard, and you know how people would joke about me fitting the description of the Phoenix?”

  Steyer’s eyes flickered over Remington’s body. “You’re 6’1.”

  “6’1, athletic build, brown hair, brown eyes, tan complexion. But what if this fucker actually does look a bit like me, just a bit older?”

  Steyer opened his mouth, but his breath caught in his throat. It suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked from his body. Remington glanced over him with concern.

  “What?”

  “What if he’s not just a doctor?” Steyer twisted around to search the parking lot.

  “What?” Remington looked so confused, although Steyer felt like everything had just fallen into place.

  “What if he’s a corpsman? Or was?” Steyer turned to stare at him. Remington’s eyes lit up.

  “That’s your ‘I figured it out’ face.”

  “You said the Phoenix called you something?”

  “Yeah, mon putain.”

  “No, something else. Something… playful.”

  Remington sighed. “Agent Hotpants.”

  “Hotpants…”

  “What about it?”

  “Why would Officer Byron know to call you that?”

  “Officer Byron? Jamal Byron?”

  “Officer Byron was fraternizing with Deputy Thrace. He… He endeared himself to the officers involved in the investigation…”

  “Who?”

  “Deputy Thrace. He…” Steyer stared at him, searching his memory. Remington never had a chance to encounter Thrace. “Call—” Steyer clapped a hand over his mouth. He searched the parking lot again. “He has a radio,” he murmured.