That he was helping people.
He was in the process of dialing Beckett’s number one more time when the phone started to ring in his hand. He almost—almost—answered it, but at the last second, he saw that it was Jasmine.
She was calling him for what must have been the hundredth time.
“Fuck,” Drake cursed, throwing the phone onto the passenger seat.
Instead of continuing the fruitless effort of trying to reach Beckett, he started to formulate a plan.
And when he pulled into the Triple D parking lot, pleased to see that Screech’s car was still there, Drake had come up with something.
“Good, you’re here,” Drake said as he entered.
Screech looked up from his computer and shrugged.
“Where else would I be?”
Drake ignored the comment.
“You still have the list of all the real estate owned by ANGUIS Holdings?”
Screech indicated his computer.
“Have a digital copy right here.”
“Good,” Drake said with a nod. “Pull up all of their real estate holdings in New York City. I want to know if the community center was on that list.”
As Screech turned his attention back to the screen, Drake took a seat beside him.
“The community center was on 41st, wasn’t it?”
Drake nodded.
“Yeah. Is it there? Is it on there?”
Screech turned the screen toward him and highlighted an address.
“It’s here.”
“Okay, I’m thinking that the next Church of Liberation meeting is at a property owned by ANGUIS. Show me all of their addresses.”
Screech’s face twisted.
“I don’t know who the fuck these ANGUIS guys are, but they own more than a hundred buildings.”
Drake swore. He thought back to the location that Simmons’s body had been found in. It was a recently renovated brownstone, but it hadn’t been rented as of yet. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that the community center might have been recently renovated—there had been nothing on the walls; no posters, plaques, trophies. Nothing.
“Can you cross-reference these locations with places that recently applied for a renovation permit—let’s say, going back six months or a year?”
Screech started to type furiously on his keyboard. A few seconds later, he had highlighted a whole section of addresses.
“That narrows it down to twenty-one; subtract the brownstone and the community center, and we’re left with nineteen.”
Drake glanced at his watch. Dunbar hadn’t called with any information about another skeleton, so if they were going on the original timeline when Simmons’s body was found, they only had about two hours or so to go.
Not to mention the fact that Beckett had been gone since mid-afternoon, and it was now coming up on seven PM.
“That’s too many,” Drake said shaking his head. “What about… what about places that are not rented; no, scratch that, places that aren’t even up for rent yet. Is that possible? Can you search for those?”
Screech brought a pen to his mouth and started chewing the cap.
“Of course, it’s possible. Every landlord has to register—”
“Just do it,” Drake ordered.
Screech’s fingers started to fly over the keys again.
“It’s going to take a little longer; hacking the New York State Homes and Community Renewal website is like going to IKEA and not buying anything, or going to Costco and not eating a hot dog afterward.”
Drake shook his head, having no idea what the hell Screech was talking about.
As he watched and waited his mind turned to Raul and the impish man’s demands.
He had told Drake to give up on the Skeleton King case, which he had promptly ignored, but the other thing…
Set up a meeting with your brother.
Maybe Screech could help him at least meet that demand.
“Alright, I’ve got it. We’ve got four—no, five locations,” Screech informed him.
Drake stared at the screen.
“There,” Drake said pointing at one address. “There, that’s it. That’s the place.”
Screech gave him a strange look.
“Two-twelve Main St? How can you be so sure?”
“The guy… the cigarette guy outside the community center had a bag, a plastic bag from Kosher Mart. And I know that place, it’s on the corner of Main and Melbourne.”
Drake stood and clapped Screech on the back.
“Thanks, Screech.”
Screech also started to rise, but Drake pushed down on his shoulders so that he remained seated.
“I’m coming with you.”
Drake shook his head.
“No way. I need a police officer on this. I’ll get Dunbar to meet me there.”
Screech’s eyebrows knitted.
“Why? What are you planning to do?”
Drake chewed the inside of his lip.
“Never mind that, I need you to do something for me.”
“Never mind that? What the hell? We’re partners, Drake, not—”
“Please, Screech. I need to find a phone number… I need you to find my brother’s phone number. And I’ll take one of those tiny cameras, if you’ve still got one.”
Chapter 55
Drake and Detective Dunbar arrived at 212 Main St. at nearly the exact same time. Drake met the man on the front walkway with his gun drawn. Dunbar was obviously surprised by this, but when he tried to question him, Drake put a finger in front of his lips and hushed.
As they approached the building, Drake pointed at Dunbar, then pointed at the front of the house. He repeated this action, only pointing at himself first, then the side of the house.
Over the phone, Drake had been deliberately obtuse, not wanting Dunbar to ask too many questions. Not wanting someone to overhear. But now, seeing the confusion on the detective’s face, he wished he’d provided at least a little more detail.
“This is the place,” he said between clenched teeth. “The Skeleton King is inside.”
Dunbar’s eyes flicked open wide and Drake nodded.
Then he pointed again.
As Dunbar turned and started toward the front of the house, Drake made his way around the side. Dusk was slowly drifting into night, and as Drake walked around the side of the building, he pressed his back against the brick wall to anchor himself.
There was no one behind the house and the light above the door was off. A quick glance through one of the windows revealed that the interior was dark as well.
Is this the wrong place? Did you make a mistake? What if the Kosher Mart bag was just a coincidence? What if ANGUIS—
Drake stemmed his runaway thoughts when he realized that the door was ajar. He put his palm against it and gently pushed it open.
And then Drake entered the residence, immediately cursing himself for not bringing a flashlight. He pulled his cell phone out and sprayed the week light about the room.
It was mostly empty and smelled of unwashed bodies, but there was nothing out of the ordinary here.
There were maybe a dozen chairs pushed against the far wall, and as he made his way over to them, he heard footsteps on a staircase to his right.
The lights suddenly flicked on and Drake leveled the gun at the stairs.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was only Dunbar.
“There’s nobody here,” Dunbar said, holstering his gun. “There’s nobody here, Drake. You sure you got the—”
Dunbar’s face went completely white and he froze.
“What? What is it?” Drake demanded, his hand and palm suddenly sweaty on the butt of the gun.
With a trembling hand, Dunbar pointed across the room.
Drake followed his finger and gasped.
Lying just behind a wooden pulpit was a bleached skeleton. Its arms and legs were spread out as if it were making a haunted snow angel.
Drake rushed to the
skeleton, shouting at Dunbar to call for backup to get someone here as he ran.
He slid on his knees, tears spilling from his eyes.
“No,” he moaned, realizing that there were two finger bones cemented to the skull. “It’s Beckett! They fucking got Beckett.”
Dunbar was at his side, barking orders into his radio.
“I can’t believe this,” Drake sobbed. “They fucking… they fucking got Beckett… those motherfuckers…”
Tears began to spill down his cheeks and he reached out and touched the skeleton’s arm.
Dunbar said something, but Drake didn’t pick it up.
“Beckett, I’m… I’m—”
“It’s not Beckett,” Dunbar repeated. “It can’t be Beckett.”
A hand came down his shoulder and Drake whipped around.
“Look,” Dunbar said, pointing at something on the carpet beside the skull.
Drake wiped the tears from his eyes and leaned close.
It was the tip of a finger, but unlike the two that were neatly cemented to the skull, this one was recently removed. The nail was short, neatly trimmed, while the other end was still wet with blood.
Relief washed over Drake.
Dunbar was right. It couldn’t be Beckett—the man himself said that it would take at least six to eight hours to remove all the flesh.
This was… this was someone else.
Drake’s chest shuddered and then he broke into tears again, but this time they were tears of joy.
Dunbar laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and Drake slowly managed to collect himself.
“It’s not him, it can’t be him,” Drake said, as if reassuring himself. But as he spoke, his eyes fell on the freshly removed finger.
The skeleton couldn’t be Beckett’s, but the finger most definitely could be.
Chapter 56
“You should get out of here, Drake,” Dunbar said. “If DI Palmer finds you here—he’s going to throw you in jail.”
Drake continued to stare at the finger. There was no way to tell if it was Beckett’s, but if the preacher found out that he was an outsider, that he was working with the police…
Drake pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Beckett’s number.
After one ring it went to voicemail.
“Fuck.”
His eyes whipped about the room, hoping for a clue, an indication of where the Church of Liberation might go next.
Where they might take Beckett.
“Drake? Did you hear me? I said, you should get out of here.”
Drake ignored the man and continued to search about the room.
Unlike the apartment on 41st street, there was no furniture in this building, aside from the chairs against the wall. At least not on this floor.
He leveled his eyes on the stairs and then started toward them.
“Drake, I’m serious; get out of here. I’ll call you if CSU finds anything.”
As Drake made his way toward the stairs, he realized that Dunbar was coming after him.
Drake whipped around and pointed his finger directly at Dunbar’s chest.
“They have Beckett! Did you hear me? They have Beckett!”
Dunbar recoiled.
“I know, I know they do. But if they take you in… if Palmer arrests you, then who's gonna save his ass? Palmer’s going to try to cover this thing up, pretend that it never happened. They were on national TV this morning saying that they caught the killer—a cop killer. And now this? A new body and the kidnapping of a Senior Medical Examiner? He’s going to lose his mind. I bet he even tries to pin this on you, Drake.”
Drake was stunned. For as long as he had known Dunbar, the man had been calm, cool, and collected. But now he was… different.
Drake’s shoulders slumped.
Dunbar was right.
“Go on,” he encouraged, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper. “And take this.”
“What is it?” Drake said, picking up on sirens in the distance.
“It’s the sketch you asked me to have done. Normally, they have the eye witness present when they draw it… this is the best they could do second hand. Take it. Hopefully, it helps.”
Drake took the paper and shoved it into his pocket.
“There’s one more thing. I need a list of names… a list of people that were in the system when they were younger.”
Dunbar nodded and Drake did his best paraphrasing what Dr. Kruk had told him about his profile.
Dunbar’s lips continued to move for several seconds after Drake was done. And then, he said, “Got it. Now go! Go!”
Drake hurried back the way he’d come, but before exiting through the door, he slipped a hand into his pocket and gripped the small camera that Screech had given him.
Without thinking, he reached up and stuck it on the doorframe, aiming it back into the room.
Chapter 57
Drake was fairly confident that he was losing his mind.
He had gotten Beckett mixed up in this shit, and now Beckett was missing a finger.
And it was only a matter of time before his friend was reduced to a skeleton.
It was likely that Dunbar was going to lose his job when he was unable to explain why he was at 212 Main St in the first place.
Jasmine was worried sick about him. She probably thought he had drunk himself to death in an alley.
He had gotten Clay killed.
Screech… Screech was involved in this somehow, too.
And then there was Raul. That prick Raul wanted him to bring his brother on board, a man he hadn’t spoken to in years.
Everything Drake touched, every person he came in contact with, turned to shit. He tried to do good, to do the right thing, but everything always seemed to turn so wrong.
Drake pulled into the parking lot, wiping the tears from his eyes. Before today, he could count the number of times he’d cried on one hand. He’d eclipsed that number over the past few hours alone.
Screech was still in the office, still huddled behind his computer. It was like déjà vu, but when the man looked up, he didn’t say anything. He saw it on Drake’s face.
“Shit. Beckett? Is it Beckett?”
“I don’t know where he is. I think they’ve got him. Chopped off his fucking finger and took him.”
Screech looked like he was about to faint.
Drake reached into his pocket and pulled out the drawing that Dunbar had given him. He opened it up and stared at it, not sure what to expect.
He was shocked: it looked uncannily like the man he had seen, like the preacher.
Drake handed it to Screech who looked it over quickly.
“Drake,” he said with a sigh. “I can do a lot of things, I can hack a lot of shit. But I don’t know what you want me to do with this. There’s no… there’s no facial recognition programs for something like this. That’s just science fiction.”
Drake felt his lower lip tremble.
The truth was, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the sketch once he got it. His only hope had been that Screech would know what to do.
But it appeared that even Screech’s computer skills had their limits.
Screech offered the sketch to him, but Drake shook his head.
“Keep it.”
Screech put it on his desk.
“What can I do? How do we find him?”
Drake thought about the list of places that ANGUIS Holdings owned, all one hundred locations.
The only thing he could think of doing was to go to each and every one of them in the hopes of getting lucky. Of finding Beckett while he was still alive.
Drake closed his eyes and pictured a skeleton in his mind, one with tattoos on the bones the matched the ones on Beckett’s skin.
Eyes still closed, he said, “Nothing, Screech. There’s nothing we can do.”
Drake’s phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket and his eyes snapped open. Hoping that it was Beckett, he pulled it out and h
is heart sunk. It wasn’t even a call, it was a message.
With a trembling finger, Drake opened the message.
And then his whole world collapsed.
Chapter 58
The cargo van struck a pothole, causing pain to flare up Beckett’s arm. His captors had wrapped his finger in paper towels to stem the bleeding, but they hadn’t given anything for the pain.
“Where are you taking me?” He screamed into the burlap sack that had been thrown over his head. “Where are you taking me?”
Beckett struggled, even knowing that it was no use; there were men on either side of them, women too, holding him to the floor of the van. At some point, they’d also bound his hands in front of him.
Eventually, he became exhausted from struggling and decided that he would be better served to preserve his strength. And as soon as he stopped moving, the pain in his finger subsided to the point where he could almost block it out.
He wished to hell that he hadn’t brushed Drake off, that the man had gone to the meeting together. This would never have happened if Drake was there.
But he also knew that if Drake saw the man who had killed Clay again, if he locked eyes with the preacher, he would have lost it. His friend would’ve killed the man and that was something that Beckett just couldn’t allow.
No matter how justified, killing someone changed you in ways that were permanent, intractable.
Beckett listened to the preacher as he lay still.
“The time has come, sufferers. The time has come to end all of our suffering.”
The response from those who were holding Beckett was muted, but he didn’t know if this was because they were getting nervous, or this was just their nature. If their behavior back at the brownstone was any indication, then these people didn’t seem easily excited.
“Things have sped up considerably… no longer can we afford to generate Skeleton Kings,” the preacher continued.
Beckett thought he heard someone grumble something under their breath, and he went with this.
“You’ve murdered people! Killed them in cold blood. You can’t justify that!” Beckett shouted. “Nothing can justify that!”
Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 2 Page 17