Exchange

by Katherine Rhodes

  The car filled with silence. I was giving these patrol bastards another five minutes before I called in to find out where the hell they were.

  I watched the house, but I also saw Paige’s jaw working next to me. She wanted to ask me something, but I was a cop and she had no idea if she should. I smirked.

  “Go on, Paige. Ask. It’s just you and me in here.”

  Her gaze landed on the house again. “Do you think Scott Woodall died from a heart attack?”

  Well. That was unexpected. “I’m told that’s what the medical examiner ruled it.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I’m not a doctor, Paige.”

  “I didn’t ask if you were. I asked if you believed he died as stated.”

  “Doctor Lito is one of the best forensic doctors I’ve ever met. He’s thorough, he’s precise, he’s compassionate. No one has come forward to argue his conclusions.” I scrubbed a hand down my face.

  “And that still hasn’t answered my question.”

  “Why do you care? The guy was a scum bag. He had a little girl chained to his bed so he could fuck her. Personally, I think a heart attack was getting off easy.”

  “I don’t care. Not like you’re thinking. I’m curious. I’m wondering if we just have our own dark knight or avenging angel here in the City of Brotherly Love.”

  I choked on the sip of water I had just taken. I was glad Paige had her own ideas why I did.

  “Right? Like Filthadelphia has its own Bruce Wayne?” She chuckled derisively. “He’d last about ten minutes on his vigil somewhere before someone came along and tagged him.”

  I choked again. She was right, though. If someone stood still in the city, it was guaranteed they’d end up with a spray paint tag in a few minutes. The mental image of Batman with a turf tag on his ass had me choking a third time on the water.

  Paige laughed too. “You’ve tagged Christian Bale’s ass in your head, haven’t you?”

  “What’s my other option here?” I chuckled.

  “Well, Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, George Clooney…Adam West…”

  “I’m not mentally tagging Adam West’s ass!” The laughter boiled out of me. “Stop! Holy crap. You’re a closet comic book hero fan!”

  “Not really, I just like men in tight leather.”

  We couldn’t stop laughing.

  She shook her head. “We shouldn’t be laughing like this.”

  “Gallows humor, Vanagloria.”

  I gasped at my own words. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell. Had I really let that name slip—

  “Vanagloria?” Paige asked.

  Hell and damnation. I took a deep breath. “Sorry. You just reminded me of someone…”

  “Friend? Sibling?”

  “Friend,” I answered, trying to keep my voice from shaking. She and I always shared gallows humor.” I shook my head. “Different lifetime. Sorry about that.”

  She smiled at me. “Nothing to be sorry for. You cracked a little, Detective. I feel like I just got to see the real you for the first time ever.”

  Nodding, I grabbed for the CB. “Headquarters, this is Detective Haden. Where the hell are my backup units?”

  There was crackle on the other end. “Haden. Patrol is tied up at DV. Any chance you could handle without backup?”

  “Christ, no,” I snapped into the mic. “This is a welfare call. I don’t know what we’re going to find in there.”

  “It’s going to be a while, Haden. This is a bad one.”

  I glanced at Paige. “Do they need backup?”

  “Can you swing up? Might be good to have a detective on scene.”

  “They’re coming back with me,” I said, turning the engine over and putting the car in drive. “What’s the address?”

  The dispatch gave me the location and it was just half a mile away on the other side of Verree Road. It was less than three minutes away through traffic. Turning onto the street revealed a half dozen cruisers all with lights.

  “Dispatch, what the hell is going on?”

  There was quiet for a moment, and the woman came back. “Ah, yeah. They just called in. There’s a body. It’s yours, Detective Haden.”

  “Shit on a shingle,” I grumbled, rolling to stop behind one of the cruisers. “Fine. Lieutenant Detective Haden responding to report of a deceased at whatever the hell you said that address was.” I let go of the CB button. “I’m sorry, Paige. I can’t say no when we just rolled up on the address and dispatch knew.”

  “I understand. How long do you think this will be?”

  “Could be anywhere from an hour to six,” I said. “Let me find out from the officer in charge and I’ll be back. We can figure out where to go from there.”

  She nodded, and I climbed out, grabbing my suit jacket from the back of the seat. I reached under and pulled out my own folio and clipboard, and the wristlet I always kept with me.

  “Hey, Detective,” one of the officers said, spotting me as I strolled past the car. “You got here fast.”

  “Two of you doughnut chasers were supposed to meet me half a mile down the road,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Sergeant!” he yelled, motioning the woman over.

  Nice. I stuck my hand out. “Lieutenant Detective Haden,” I said.

  She took it. “Sergeant Ines Toledo. Speedy delivery on dispatch. So, we got a body clearly visible in the kitchen of the house. It doesn’t appear that anyone else is home. We can see the phone clutched in her hand, which is why this started as a domestic violence call.”

  “How do you know she’s dead?” I snapped. If they had left the victim laying on the floor and she wasn’t deceased…

  “Because her head is several feet away from her torso. Trust me, there’s no doubt that she’s dead. I wouldn’t leave a DV in there dying,” Toledo said.

  Nodding, I followed her to the back door, and it was plain to see that the woman inside was dead. Who the hell beheaded people anymore? That wasn’t really something that was done, not in this realm.

  “How are we getting in?”

  “Whatever way you give us permission. The doors and every window are locked. We can wait for someone to pick it.”

  “Who’s got a hammer?” I called to the eight uniforms standing around on the side of the house. Within a minute, we had a hammer, and in one quick hit, the doorknob was busted off and we could get inside.

  Stepping in carefully, I pulled out my service weapon. Toledo walked in with me with her piece out as well. Two more of the uniforms were right behind us.

  Clearing a crime scene was just the worst, especially one like this where there was a lot of potential for contamination as we did our safety check. There were days when I wished we could just go have someone stand in the door with a shot gun and keep people in the house, in the house.

  Halfway through the procedure, I heard a noise. I was in front of a closet, and I just knew there was someone hiding in there. I jerked my head around for one of the officers to cover the door as I knocked.

  “Philadelphia PD, please come out with your hands out.”

  There was a whimper, but nothing happened. I grabbed the knob and twisted it. Unlocked. “Come on out please, this is the Philadelphia PD. We’re here to help if we can.”

  There was crying now, and someone trying to hush the crying.

  Fuck. There were kids in there. I glanced at the officer’s name tag and nodded to him. “Gessler, I need you to run out to my cruiser. There’s a woman in the passenger seat. She’s civilian consultant for DHS. We’re going to need her. Get her to the back door, but for the love of all that’s holy don’t let her see the kitchen.”

  He nodded and headed back out carefully. The other officer who came in with us moved into his position—and I realized what he was doing—blocking the view into the kitchen. If there were kids, they didn’t need to see that woman without her head.

  I tapped again. “It’s the Philadelphia police. I’m going to open the door. Just don’t move, okay?�
��

  Turning the knob, I popped the door open and slowly pulled it back to where we could see inside with the light from the kitchen. I peered around the door to see what was going on.

  There were two girls in the dark. One much older than the smaller one.

  “Hi, girls. I’m Detective Haden. Why are you hiding in here?”

  “He killed Titi. He killed her,” the little one whimpered.

  “Ssh!” the older one said. She leaned in and whispered something to the little one and she instantly started wailing, frightened. The older put a hand over the little one’s mouth.

  “Okay, no you don’t have to do that,” I said, pulling her hand away. “It’s okay. The other detective is finishing up checking the house for anyone. He won’t hurt you anymore. Come on out and let’s get in one of the police cars outside.”

  “We didn’t kill him!” the older girl screamed.

  “I didn’t say you did. We wouldn’t ever. I said we’re going to put you in the police car. They’re safe spaces and I wanted you safe. The only person who can unlock the door is the officer with the fob. Come on out. Let’s get you safe.”

  She tugged the little girl closer and the little one spoke in her ear. She sighed and let the girl go. “Fine. Please take her out to the car, and I’ll go with her.”

  “What changed your mind?” I asked.

  “She said you looked like a nice police lady,” the girl said, unfurling herself from the corner, and taking a step out.

  I heard Paige gasp behind me. I was going to punch the officer who let her in. I wouldn’t shoot them because at least they brought her in the front door and not through the mess in the kitchen.

  Her eyes were wide in fear. “Desiree. Riquelle. Where is Ben?”

  A spike of fear pierced my gut. “What?”

  “Ben’s name isn’t Ben,” the little one said from where she had wrapped around her leg, looking up at her.

  “What is it now, Riqi?”

  “John.” She nodded.

  Paige looked at Desiree, the older girl. “What’s going on?”

  “They said he had to use a New Testament name so his sister couldn’t find him, and it would keep her devil away from him.” Desiree’s eyes were on the ground. “He’s the sister of Satan. But Mom Pauline said Dad Troy was going too far. She brought us over here to Titi’s to keep us away from Dad Troy for a while.”

  “Where is Ben? John? Whatever the hell his name is?” I snapped.

  Riqi piped up, “Daddy Troy took him back to our house. After he said that Mommy Pauline hadn’t listened to him and he’d had to punish her.”

  “Fuck,” I snapped. “I need two patrol units with me!” I booked it for the door. “Paige get the kids in the car and get them the hell away from here. Get them to a safe house.”

  She had Riqi in her arms and Desiree was running after them. “I should go with you!”

  Stopping at the door of my cruiser, I looked at her. “We’re not taking the kids.”

  “I got ‘em,” the sergeant said, racing up to us.

  Paige thrust a card at her. “Call my office. Greta should be there, and she can work this all out and get them safe.”

  “Done,” Toledo said as Paige slammed the passenger door.

  I hit the lights and sirens as we raced down the street, back to the house we were watching earlier. The two patrol units were right behind me as I did the world’s sloppiest parking job in front of the house.

  My gun was back in my hands and I ran to the door with the two officers and Paige right behind me. I motioned the damn unarmed civilian back and to the side, and slammed the side of my fist on the door.

  “Police! Open up!”

  There was no answer. I tried again, screaming the same words. Still nothing.

  Until the front porch light went off and plunged us into darkness. The temporary loss of sight was the only opening the man inside needed to blast away the top half of the door.

  The shrapnel went everywhere, exploding around my head. I barely had time to close my eyes never mind move very far. I hoped to God and Gabriel that these five people around me thought my escaping the blast was luck instead of…well, me.

  A half of heartbeat later there was another bang from inside the house, and I had a very bad feeling.

  I kicked in the remains of the door and stormed through the damn thing into the living room.

  There was a man crumbled to the ground on top of a still smoking shot gun, and a woman standing with a still smoking handgun. The other two men disappeared into the house while one stayed outside the front door, on guard.

  “What did you do?” I gasped as one of the patrolmen disarmed her and pushed her back.

  “He killed my sister,” she whispered.

  I bent down and felt for a pulse on the man on the ground. It was there, but fading fast. He was staring at me with just a little life left in his eyes.

  “Where’s Ben?” Paige demanded, her face steel.

  “Ben is gone…”

  “Ben is gone where?”

  “Child of Satan,” the man on the floor whispered.

  Paige knelt down next to him. “Troy Danvers. Where is Benjamin Sheehan?”

  “John,” he breathed.

  “Where is he?”

  His breath hissed out and he didn’t breathe in again.

  “Oh no you fucking don’t.” I felt the hellfire rise in my veins, and I grabbed his collar. Reaching down into him, I yanked his soul back from the path to Hell it had found and jerked it right back into his body. “Where is Benjamin!?”

  “Child of Satan…” He had the voice of the dead, hissing and rotten, forced through lungs and vocal cords that couldn’t work right anymore.

  I dumped a little brimstone into his soul. “Ben is an angelico, dirtbag. Where is the child?!”

  Eyes that were quickly dying turned terrified. “John, child of Satan.”

  I leaned down. “You’re about to meet Satan in Gehenna, ‘rasha, so don’t tell me about who’s his child. Tell me what you did with him.”

  “Sold to a life he deserves.” The words were fading and the pull of Tartarus was stronger than even I could resist.

  “Where? When?”

  “Yest… Rhawn pipe…”

  He slumped to the side and his soul slipped out of my grasp. I threw him back into the pile he had been in before. I stared at him and mumbled my words in a long dead language. “Take his soul, my love, and give him righteous reward for his evil deeds.”

  “…detective?”

  I glanced up and realized that the one cop and the woman, Pauline?, had seen everything. I flashed my eyes full of Hellfire and burned the memory of what had just happened out of their minds, replacing it with a neat stitch in time.

  “Damn it,” I said, slamming my hand on the floor. I stood and headed for the door. “Two crime scenes. Joy. I’m calling it in, and I’ll be right back.”

  The officer nodded and I ran down to the car to call it into dispatch. I stood leaning my head against the frame of the car for a moment to absorb what had just happened there.

  “What did he say about a drainpipe?”

  Holy shit, I’d forgotten Paige. “What did you—”

  She leaned into me. “I have no idea what just happened in there, but one of my kids is missing and I need to find him. Now, tell me what that dead man said so I can start searching for him.”

  I stared at her and it was plain she didn’t understand what had just happened, and while she did care, she didn’t have time to worry about it.

  “Not drainpipe. Yesterday. Rhawnhurst. Pipeline.”

  “Jesus shit, he sold him to the Pipeline.”

  I nodded. “Yesterday. And there was an auction tonight.”

  Wren

  Vance had dropped off a file folder of information they had gathered from the auction. The man who was behind the genius of Lincoln Foster was visibly shaken by what he saw the night before.

  “Wren. I don’t know what you
r plans are for this Pipeline, but he and I are absolutely one hundred percent behind you.”

  I took the file and Vance unconsciously wiped his hand on his pants. I pointedly look at his hand. “As bad as all that?”

  “The worst of the Pit in Hell is the only place that could come close to what those fuckers deserve,” Vance answered.

  There was not a hint of exaggeration.

  He gestured to the folder. “You’ll find my notes, his notes, and the goddamn brochure they handed out. I would have made him come here and hand this off to you…but he’s not handling this well. At all. I only had to follow him, but he had to pretend he wanted a kid to use. I think it affected him.”

  “I told him we needed to have a session after this. He didn’t believe me. Can you get him to come talk to me? I’ll give you a few days?”

  “If I can’t get him to come to you, would you consider coming to see him? He’s a complicated man and I can see him being…”

  “Absolutely fucking stubborn, shoving everything that happened back into his own gullet and swallowing so he didn’t have to deal with it.”

  Vance gave me one nod. “That’s how the man ended up an alcoholic in the first place, and I’ve been trying to explain that he’ll do it again…but…”

  “But he’s Lincoln Foster.” I nodded.

  “Exactly.” Rubbing a hand up and down his arm, Vance seemed confused. “Look, Doctor Warner, I have real reason to keep you away from him. Reasons I don’t think you can understand right now. But he’s fucked up and this whole thing is fucked up, and I…just think you’re probably one of the few people who can help him right now.”

  “Why would you—”

  “I can’t tell you. I can’t even begin to explain. But just trust me when I say that you’re one of the few people who can help him, I’m not being flippant.”

  “I wouldn’t take you for flippant,” I answered. “Can you take a moment while I read this through? See if there’s any place we can start?”

  Vance motioned for me to put the folder down and I did so. He flipped the top of the folder open. “This man,” he tapped the top sheet, “is where you need to start.”

  I looked down. Mister Frankford. I gasped.

  “How did you get a picture of him?”