“Don't worry about it. We're all upset.” Turning to Trace, he said, “I want you to take over the investigation, I'm too close to it.” He headed to the ambulance to check on Aynslee and found her already loaded in the back, sitting on a stretcher. “Want some company?”
She nodded. “Please.” She had never met this man who had saved her life before tonight, but she felt an immediate connection with him. Not only did they share in the grief of losing someone they thought they had known, they both were trying to deal with the horror they knew was about to be uncovered.
Aynslee stepped into the hallway, having been given the all clear, the Rohypnol now out of her system. She found Shakespeare sitting in the hall waiting. He rose as soon as he saw her. “How are you feeling?”
Aynslee shrugged her shoulders. “Physically? Fine. Everything else? I don’t know what to feel.”
Shakespeare nodded, a grimace creasing his face, betraying his own confusion. “We’re going to have to take a witness statement from you at some point. It can wait until tomorrow if you don't feel up to it.”
“Tomorrow, please.” Aynslee didn't feel like going over what had happened to her again, not now. “Any word on the backyard?”
Shakespeare nodded. “Six bodies. The crime scene guys think it goes back almost a decade.”
“My God!” Aynslee shook as she realized what had almost happened to her. “Are they going to be able to identify them? Give those poor families some closure?”
“They'll do their best.”
Aynslee pressed a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Is Jeremiah here?”
“End of the hall, under guard.”
“What will happen to him?”
“He'll be charged, arraigned probably here in the hospital. I doubt he'll be granted bail so they'll transfer him to Rikers as soon as he's well enough to be moved to their infirmary, then stand trial. He'll be going away for the rest of his life, I'm sure.”
Aynslee felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor boy who had tried to kill her, but had ultimately saved her life. “Can I see him?” Shakespeare nodded and led her down the hallway.
Leaving Shakespeare out in the hall, Aynslee entered the room where Jeremiah lay hooked to various monitors, handcuffed to the bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but steady. Walking over to the bed she took his hand in hers and watched as his eyes slowly opened. “We made it.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Thanks to you.”
Jeremiah smiled weakly. “Any time.” Aynslee squeezed his hand as Jeremiah's eyes filled with tears. “I'm so sorry for what I've done.”
“Make sure you tell the judge that.”
“I don't care about that. I deserve to rot in a prison cell for what I've done. I have no excuse.”
Aynslee sat on the edge of his bed, and dabbed his eyes dry with a tissue. “Why don't you tell me about your sister.”
Jeremiah took a deep breath and smiled.
Shakespeare listened to the voices murmuring in the room then eyed a snack machine at the end of the corridor. His stomach rumbled. Walking toward it he heard a voice call out as he passed one of the rooms. “Justin, is that you?” Puzzled, he walked back and looked into the room.
“Father O'Neil!” Shakespeare's jaw dropped at the shock of seeing his spiritual guide from so many years ago lying in a hospital bed, hooked to machines monitoring his weak vital signs. “What are you doing here?”
O'Neil smiled and beckoned him over. “I'm afraid I wasn’t careful enough, my son. Jeremiah shot me.”
“What? When? Why didn't you call me?”
O'Neil waved his hand to cut him off. “Yesterday, in the confessional. Luckily someone heard the shot and called for help. I just woke up a few hours ago here. Did you find Jeremiah?”
“Yes we did.”
“And is he okay?”
“He was shot, but he'll survive. He's down the hall.”
“Shot, how?”
Shakespeare pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down.
“Father, have I got a story to tell you.”
AFTERWORD
Selling books is marketing, and as part of that, I have held several contests on my website and Facebook page. I would like to take the time to thank several people who helped spread the word through entering the contests and inviting their friends to join. Having read Depraved Difference, you may recognize their names as characters in the books: Brent Richards, Tracy Oswald and Steve Scaramell. As well, a special thanks to an old high-school buddy Justin Shakespeare, who is similar to my character in name only, and to Regis Giasson, who, as is his nature, played a very small but important role in reminding me to put together these acknowledgements.
I’d like to thank my parents for reading endless drafts, my wife Esperanza (another name in the book), and my daughter, Niskha (next book!), for tolerating the hours of my delightful company lost to the keyboard, and my friends for listening to me drone on about plots and the publishing business, including, but definitely not limited to, Paul Conway, the best friend anyone could ask for.
And finally, a very special thanks to you, the reader. You have this author’s humble gratitude.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has written over twenty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series, the first installment of which, The Protocol, has been on the bestsellers list since its release, including a three month run at number one. In addition to the other novels from this series including The Templar's Relic, a USA Today bestseller and #1 overall bestseller on Barnes & Noble, he writes the bestselling Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers, the Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers, and the Detective Shakespeare Mysteries. Robert lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.
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Depraved Difference (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #1) Page 32