Alone in the Dark

by Karen Rose

  ‘Tell them to proceed,’ Isenberg said.

  They started out with the shooting in the gas station, which Drake promptly denied, claiming he’d only tried to steal an SUV. But the detective calmly showed Drake and his lawyer a clip of the security video on his iPad, and Drake became sullen.

  ‘What are you offering?’ Drake’s lawyer asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ the detective said with a tight smile. ‘We’re not finished.’

  ‘We’re barely started,’ the agent agreed.

  ‘Where’d you get the gun, Drake?’ the detective asked.

  ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ his lawyer counseled.

  The detective kept talking. ‘It’s registered to your girlfriend’s daddy. Who is missing, by the way. The whole family is missing. Cinci PD tells us that there were shots fired and the Anders family was removed from their home by force. Did you take them somewhere, Drake? Bury them in a shallow grave, maybe?’

  ‘No. I don’t know anything about that.’ But his eyes said otherwise. ‘I didn’t go over there very often. Her father hated me.’

  ‘Drake,’ his lawyer cautioned.

  ‘Well he did. I’m just sayin’ that I had no cause to go over there.’

  ‘Then how did you get his gun?’ the agent asked innocently.

  ‘Stephie gave it to me.’ Drake shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I live in a rough neighborhood. She was scared for me.’

  Deacon leaned into the microphone on his laptop. ‘He lives in a low-crime neighborhood,’ he murmured to the Detroit agent. ‘Not rich, but not rough.’

  ‘When did she give it to you?’ the agent was asking.

  Drake was quiet for a moment, his eyes calculating before he spoke. ‘Last week.’

  ‘So you never visited at night?’ the special agent asked.

  ‘I said I didn’t,’ Drake said.

  ‘The punk’s fucking pathological,’ Marcus muttered. ‘He raped Tala and Erica every chance he got.’ Scarlett squeezed his hand under the table. He drew another calming breath.

  ‘So you never met up with your girlfriend at night?’ the agent pressed.

  ‘He said he didn’t,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘Next question, please.’

  The agent ignored him. ‘So you and your girlfriend and your Ruger with cop-killing bullets weren’t in an alley in Cincinnati two nights ago looking for drugs?’

  ‘No!’ He’d been pale from the surgery, but visibly paled further.

  ‘Then how did bullets from your gun – which Stephie gave you last week – get into two victims in that alley early yesterday morning?’ The agent tilted his head mockingly. ‘We don’t understand.’

  ‘It wasn’t my gun.’

  ‘Oh it was,’ the agent said. ‘Ballistics prove it. And your fingerprint was found on one of the casings you left behind.’

  The public defender sighed. ‘I want copies of the ballistics report and the print match.’

  Drake turned on the defender. ‘You believe them? You’re supposed to be on my side.’

  ‘Are you really that stupid, Drake?’ the detective asked, laughter in his voice. ‘Your lawyer knows your goose is cooked. They’re gonna put a needle in your arm.’

  The lawyer shook his head when Drake looked like he wanted to bolt. ‘They’re lying, Drake, trying to scare you. Michigan hasn’t had the death penalty in a hundred and fifty years.’

  ‘Ohio does, though,’ the detective said with a cold smile. ‘We’ll try you here in Michigan for the murder of that woman you shot in the parking lot last night. You’ll get life, for sure. But then Ohio will get their turn. You killed that young woman in the alley yesterday. You even went back and shot her in the head to be sure she was dead. You shot the man trying to save her life – in the back. Ohio’s gonna be sliding a needle in your arm, boy. I know I’ll be there on the other side of the glass, watching.’

  ‘I’ll bring popcorn,’ the agent deadpanned.

  Scarlett snickered, making Marcus’s lips twitch, venting off just a smidgeon of his rage, but enough so that he could think.

  ‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ Drake insisted. ‘You have no proof.’

  ‘We have your gun, Drake,’ the agent said. ‘That’s all the proof we need.’

  ‘What do you want?’ the defender asked again.

  The special agent held up the flash drive, and Drake’s eyes narrowed in anger. ‘That’s not mine,’ he exploded.

  ‘Riiiight,’ the agent said. ‘It’s got your thumbprint on it.’

  ‘Because I found it on the ground when that bitch shot me. I must have touched it then.’

  The agent shook his head. ‘We have your print on the part that plugs into the computer and that was covered up. See, it’s right here in the video. There you are getting shot,’ he said, speaking slowly as if narrating. ‘Oh, and there you are digging it out of your own pocket and throwing it under the dead lady’s SUV. But at no time did you touch the plug part.’

  Drake’s jaw clenched and he closed his eyes. ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘In your dreams, kid,’ the agent said, and the detective laughed.

  ‘We’re done here,’ the defender said, thin-lipped.

  Drake turned to the lawyer, his eyes sly again. ‘Tell them I’ll decrypt the files on the drive if they let me go.’

  The lawyer gave him a stunned look. ‘Uh, listen, kid, they are not letting you go.’

  Drake shrugged. ‘Then they’ll never know all of Chip Anders’s secrets. And he’s got good secrets,’ he added conspiratorially.

  ‘Ooh, tell Vince to hurry decoding that thing,’ Isenberg said quietly. ‘The kid was gonna blackmail Stephie’s daddy. We might get information about the traffickers.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Drake,’ the agent said, pocketing the evidence bag holding the flash drive. ‘We’ve got experts who can decode anything. They should have cracked those files before we leave here.’

  ‘Moving right along,’ the detective said, pulling a cell phone out of another bag. ‘Your fingerprints are all over it, so don’t even try to deny it’s yours. This phone was used to text the phone belonging to the man you shot in the back yesterday morning. The text asked him to come to the alley. You in the habit of luring grown men to alleys, Drake?’

  ‘No!’ Drake hissed. ‘That text didn’t come from me.’

  ‘No, it didn’t,’ the detective said, suddenly sober. ‘It was a plea for help from a young woman your girlfriend’s daddy bought from human traffickers.’

  ‘Shit,’ the defender muttered.

  Drake shrugged. ‘She probably stole my phone.’

  ‘She had an ankle tracker,’ the detective said. ‘She was confined to the Anderses’ house.’

  ‘Then how’d she get to the alley?’ Drake taunted.

  ‘How’d she get to your phone?’ the detective threw back. ‘It indicates proximity. How close did you get to her, Drake?’

  ‘I never touched her.’

  Marcus heard a growl and realized it had come from him.

  Squeezing his hand again, Scarlett used her free hand to unmute the microphone. ‘Tell him that the rape kit found sperm in the victim,’ she said quietly to the cops on the screen, ‘and that we’ll match it to him.’

  ‘The rape kit found no semen,’ Deacon said with a frown.

  ‘I know. I’m interested to see how he denies it. I want him to admit to assaulting Tala so that if Erica decides to press charges, she’ll have a foundation.’ Scarlett turned back to the microphone. ‘Also tell him that he should get checked for genital herpes and gonorrhea while he’s in the hospital. That he’s a carrier. That is true.’

  The Detroit detective gave a tiny nod to show he’d heard. ‘You didn’t touch her?’ he asked Drake. ‘Then how did she steal your phone and plead for help? How did the ME find your sperm inside her?’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ Drake spat. ‘I used a condom.’

  ‘Knew it,’ Scarlett said with satisfaction. ‘Little prick.’

  The detective leaned
closer, getting into Drake’s space. ‘You didn’t use a condom every time, Drake. The ME found your Cincinnati murder victim had both genital herpes and gonorrhea. On the bright side, you won’t have to worry about getting it in prison. You already have it. That’ll take some of the pressure off once you get there. Because while we don’t have the death penalty, we have far more than our share of gang members who’re gonna think you’re so pretty.’

  Drake’s expression was priceless. ‘Fuck you,’ he gritted out. ‘I’m done here. Get out.’

  ‘Tell him about his sister now,’ Deacon said quietly.

  The detective and the special agent stood up. ‘One more thing, Drake,’ the agent said, ‘and this is very serious. We know you stole your sister’s car and her credit card because we found them with your prints all over them.’

  ‘Borrowed,’ Drake said with a surly glare.

  ‘Well you should know that you brought trouble to her door. Your sister is gone. Taken. Maybe by the same people who took your girlfriend and her family.’

  Drake’s lips trembled. ‘Nah, she’s probably at work. She’s always at work.’

  The agent shook his head. ‘No. Her landscaping van was in the driveway and her purse was on the kitchen table. There was a struggle. She fought hard.’

  ‘You’re lying to me. She’s fine.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. The people who took the Anders family . . . they meant business. You might do better to stay locked up. They were looking for you because they know you messed with their property. The girl who used your phone to text for help was desperate.’

  ‘What are they gonna do when they learn you’re in custody?’ the detective asked. ‘I’m thinking we should take you to Cincinnati and see how well you fare down there.’

  Drake blanched. ‘It’s your job to protect me.’

  The detective snorted. ‘No, our job is to prove that you shot the cashier and murdered that woman last night. We have it on tape, so I’ll admit our job is pretty easy. The creeps that took your sister and your girlfriend are Cincinnati thugs. CPD’s job is to find out who killed that young woman in the alley so that they can track it back to the people who forced her to come to this country to begin with – most likely the thugs that went after your sister trying to find you. Nobody’s gonna protect you, Drake – not us and not Cinci PD. You help them find out who’s after you and you protect yourself.’

  ‘God, he’s good,’ Scarlett murmured.

  ‘Yeah,’ Deacon agreed. ‘Don’t think it’ll be enough, though. Drake’s a sociopath.’

  The agent pulled out the bag containing the flash drive and let it dangle. ‘Last chance to tell us what’s on this.’

  The lawyer whispered something in Drake’s ear. Drake shook his head. ‘Unless you offer me something, I’m going to pass. Why should I make your lives easier? Knock yourselves out, guys.’

  ‘Little prick,’ Marcus muttered.

  The detective retrieved his laptop, and the picture got very bumpy as he and the special agent walked through the white hallways of whatever hospital Drake was in.

  Deacon unmuted the microphone. ‘I didn’t think Drake would break. He didn’t care about his sister. He was more worried that they were coming after him.’

  ‘True,’ the Detroit detective said through the speaker. ‘He’s a piece of work.’

  ‘He’s right about one thing, though,’ Scarlett said. ‘We don’t have any proof directly tying him to Tala’s murder. He can argue that yeah, he screwed her, but he didn’t kill her or shoot at Marcus.’

  ‘We need an eyewitness,’ Isenberg said. ‘Your report mentioned two homeless people who directed you to the body?’

  Scarlett nodded. ‘Tommy and Edna. I’ll find them.’

  ‘We’re getting ready to sign off,’ the agent said. ‘Let us know if you need anything.’

  ‘Popcorn,’ Scarlett said grimly, and the two Detroit men laughed, also grimly.

  Deacon closed his laptop. ‘You okay?’ he asked Marcus.

  Marcus nodded. ‘I feel like writing a story all about Drake,’ he said, his voice so harsh that it hurt his throat. ‘I’d tell what he did and where he can be found and hope that the traffickers have a subscription to the paper. Little prick.’

  ‘Write it and send it to me,’ Isenberg said crisply. ‘I may have a thing or two to add.’

  He met the woman’s normally cold eyes and saw raw fury. ‘You’ll have it in an hour.’

  ‘What about the suspected employees of the ankle tracker company?’ Scarlett asked. ‘When will they be in Cincinnati?’

  ‘They should be delivered to CPD any minute.’ Deacon looked at Isenberg. ‘I assume Marcus can come with us and watch the interview from the observation area?’

  ‘Yeah. I guess he’s earned that much,’ Isenberg said, stunning them all. She stood up. ‘I will still see you back in my office, Detective Bishop. Plan time after the interview with the tracker maker.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Marcus turned in his seat, watching as the lieutenant walked out the door that led directly into the hallway, bypassing the Bautista family. ‘I do not understand that woman.’

  ‘She likes you,’ Scarlett said. ‘She doesn’t like me liking you when I’m working your case. She wants her chance to tell me so, but she’s unlikely to suspend me. It’s okay, Marcus. She’s actually protecting my career for me because she does care.’

  Marcus looked at Deacon, who nodded. ‘What Scarlett said,’ Deacon said. ‘Isenberg is complicated, but down deep she’s a good boss. Let’s pack up, get some lunch. Then we can head over to CPD to talk to the tracker makers.’

  There was a knock on the door from the Bautistas’ suite, and Lana D’Amico stuck her head in. ‘Okay to come in? I have a sketch for you to see. We got a face for the man, but not the woman yet. They . . . Well, they needed a break after describing the man.’

  They waved her in, Marcus feeling a tingle of dread on the back of his neck. If he didn’t recognize the people who’d hurt Tala and her family, he’d still be in the dark, looking for a connection to explain why someone kept shooting at him.

  He held his breath as the sketch artist put her pad on the table in front of him.

  ‘These are based on memories that are three years old,’ she said. ‘But they all agreed that this was the best likeness of the two people who brought them to Cincinnati.’

  ‘There are some faces you don’t forget,’ Marcus said quietly. ‘That man raped Erica and her sister. The parents had to watch. I think having to see it burns it into your memory.’ He didn’t realize that he’d clenched his fists until Scarlett’s hand covered one of them.

  Lana lifted the cover of her sketchbook and Marcus felt all the air seep from his lungs. He stared at the man with the hard, dead eyes.

  ‘I’ve seen them both. But . . . I don’t remember where.’ He looked at Scarlett, stunned to feel panic creeping up his chest. That he didn’t understand why he was reacting the way he was made the panic worse.

  ‘Yet,’ she murmured, cupping the back of his neck, massaging muscles that had grown so stiff that a sharp pain shot up into his skull. ‘Relax. It’ll come to you.’

  Marcus drew a breath, closed his eyes. Tried to relax, but it wasn’t coming, and time was not something they had to waste. He met Deacon’s steady gaze. ‘I hear you can help people remember things.’

  Deacon shrugged. ‘I help people relax so that they can access the things they’ve tucked out of reach. You want me do that for you? It’s just breathing exercises.’

  ‘I can leave if you want me to,’ Scarlett murmured, but Marcus maneuvered his hand so that he held hers instead of the other way around.

  ‘No.’ He let go of her hand and slid his arms around her shoulders. Buried his face in her hair. Dragged in a breath so deep it hurt, but he’d filled his head with the scent of honeysuckle and it calmed him. ‘Stay,’ he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. ‘Please. I need you.’

  ‘Well, when you
put it like that,’ she said with a smile. She turned her head so that his forehead rested on hers. ‘It’ll be all right. Whatever it is.’

  She’d understood. There was something terrifying about that man’s face, on a primal level that he couldn’t articulate. He had to know what it was, for Edgar and Phillip, for Agent Spangler, for the Bautistas, and for himself.

  Thirty-one

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Wednesday 5 August, 2.05 P.M.

  Deacon Novak was nervous. He’d done this procedure dozens of times and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been nervous. Because sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. It meant more for it to work when he had a connection with the person he was trying to calm. Like he’d had with Faith, of course. And his old boss’s wife back in Baltimore.

  And now, with Scarlett watching him with such trust, he knew he’d add this to the number of times it meant a lot more. He’d liked Scarlett from the first time he’d met her, had known some of the prickliness was self-protection on her part. He’d seen the real Scarlett Bishop a few times over the almost-year that they’d worked together, but he’d never seen her expression so open.

  She was so open because of Marcus O’Bannion. Because this mattered. Marcus wasn’t just scared of hypnosis, he was scared about what he was going to remember. That he was one of the bravest men Deacon knew made his fear far more concerning.

  Lana D’Amico had taken her sketchbook, leaving the sketch and giving Scarlett a brief hug as she left. Now it was just the three of them in the quiet room.

  ‘It’s simple breathing,’ Deacon said quietly. ‘Nothing more.’ He took Marcus through the breathing exercises once, then twice, but the man was too tense.

  Scarlett hesitated. ‘I’m going to try something, and it’s just a little odd.’ She took down her braid, working her hair loose so that it lay around her shoulders and halfway down her back. Scarlett was rarely seen with her hair down, and it . . . softened her. She gathered it into a sheaf and lifted it cupped in both hands to Marcus, like an offering.