Monster In The Closet (The Baltimore Series Book 5)

by Karen Rose

  Clay frowned. ‘Doting? Or needy?’

  ‘More the second one,’ JD said. ‘“Doting” was Grandma’s word.’

  ‘You think Grandma knows where Gage is?’

  ‘She’s not a good liar, so I don’t think so. She really believes he’s somewhere in Texas.’ JD rolled his eyes. ‘Anyway, we’ve been watching her too, but until we have solid proof that either she or Denny has either helped Gage or knows his whereabouts – or that Gage was involved in his wife’s murder, for that matter – we don’t have grounds for warrants.’

  ‘Unless Jazzie identifies her father as being at the scene of the crime,’ Clay murmured.

  JD’s nod was grim. ‘Exactly. And until now, she hasn’t said anything to anyone.’

  ‘But she only said a few words to Taylor. I’m not sure why you think she can get this child to spill her guts over a sundae.’

  ‘She might not,’ JD agreed reluctantly, ‘but at this point I don’t have a better idea, and if my gut is right and her father is guilty and he’s getting twitchy, then I don’t have much more time.’

  ‘Is Gage still listed as a suspect?’ Stevie asked.

  ‘With me? Yes. But for the purposes of the report that’s visible in the database, he is no longer a person of interest. I wanted him to feel confident enough to poke his head out of his hidey-hole. The murderer didn’t leave any evidence behind in Valerie’s apartment. Not a single fingerprint, and we dusted every square millimeter. All I have is a flimsy alibi and my gut.’

  ‘And Jazzie,’ Clay said with a sigh of his own. ‘Okay, JD, what’s your plan to get my daughter and this little girl in and out of Giuseppe’s in one undamaged piece?’

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 23 August, 2.05 P.M.

  She was late. Standing behind the large hedge that bordered the park, Gage glanced at his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. Dammit, Ma, you’d better be coming. And you better have the kid. I need to know one way or the other.

  He tapped his foot impatiently. Then his foot went still and he looked around suspiciously. Could she have called the police? Led him into a trap?

  No. His mother would never do that. She loves me. And trusts me. Which was her mistake, he supposed.

  Ah. There she is. She was walking hand-in-hand with the girls. They’ve grown, he thought. Which was understandable. It had been a few years. He only hoped he’d brought enough sedative for their increased body weight. Just in case Jazzie freaked out and he had to quiet her down. He had enough for his mother, however. She was the same size she’d always been.

  He could tell when she’d spotted him at the edge of the hedge, because he could see her eyes growing brighter, even from this distance. She leaned down and said something to the girls, prompting Janie to run to the swing sets shouting for her sister to push her to the sky. Jazzie followed more cautiously, her eyes darting everywhere. The girl was spooked. That didn’t look good. Of course, it could simply be that she’d discovered her mother’s body after he’d been long gone. He’d know for sure in a few minutes.

  He stepped out from behind the hedge and waited for his mother.

  ‘Gage!’ Eunice Jarvis looked every one of her sixty years, plus a couple of dozen more. She walked stiffly to where he stood and wrapped her arms around his neck. Because she was short, he bowed down, taking her plump body into a hard hug.

  ‘Mama, you look terrific.’ Of course she didn’t, but what was one more lie?

  She was crying and patting his back. ‘My baby. My baby’s finally home.’

  Let her believe it a few seconds longer. ‘Did you tell Lilah you were bringing the kids?’

  An audible swallow. ‘No. I sent her to the mall. Told her that Jazzie needed art supplies.’ Her chuckle was forced. ‘That girl goes through pencils and sketchpads like nobody’s business. Especially since . . . well, since they found Valerie like that.’

  He feigned a sorrowful sigh. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here for them, Ma.’

  ‘You’re here now,’ she said firmly. ‘And that’s all that matters.’

  He felt a twinge of remorse as he pulled the handkerchief from his pocket. In a quick move, he pressed the ketamine-laced cotton to her face, leaving it there as she struggled. Not for long, though. He counted down the seconds. ‘Dream nice dreams,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Dream you saw your son again.’ Her body went lax in his arms.

  Studies had shown that ket users were open to suggestion before the administration of the drug. The studies were usually in a surgical setting and had to do with whether the patient would dream pleasantly while under ketamine sedation versus the terrifying hallucinations that were common. He’d cited one such study years ago while defending a date rapist who’d used ket to render his victim unconscious. He’d painted the victim’s broken memory of the assault as a bad ket dream. His client was guilty, for sure, but the young man had cleaned up well, and could feign earnestness in a truly sociopathic way – and the young woman had a history of partying. The jury had bought the bad-dream defense.

  Gage personally had never remembered anything after coming down from a ket high, not in all the many times he’d used the drug. Hopefully his mother’s physiology would be the same and she’d simply wake to a blank slate.

  He carefully lowered her to the ground behind the hedge. Hopefully he’d sedated her for nothing. Hopefully Jazzie’s fright was simple trauma from finding her mother. If that was the case, he’d watch the kids until she came around and tell her that he’d found her passed out. She wouldn’t question him, nor would she tell Lilah, because she’d have to admit to Lilah that she’d lied, and his mother never admitted she’d been wrong.

  It was how she’d been able to overlook his sins all these years.

  And if Jazzie had seen him? He’d grab both kids and then . . . Well, first he’d have to find out how much she’d seen. Then he’d have to get an alibi. Denny would be good for that. He’d talked big the day before, but there was no way he was telling the cops the truth. He’d lose everything. Denny wasn’t that brave.

  His mother wouldn’t wake up for an hour, at least. He quickly searched her enormous handbag for her phone and wallet, pocketing them. Mostly to make it appear she’d been mugged in case she was discovered before she woke up, but partly because she always carried a little cash and he knew all her PIN codes. She never changed them, using his birthday, Denny’s birthday, or the day her husband died. Good riddance, Gage thought bitterly, having spent his entire life becoming the success that his father had always been too drunk to even dream about.

  He rooted around in the handbag for another few seconds. A plastic baggie filled with pill bottles was the only other thing of value. The pharmacy labels had her name on them, so he took the bottles, too. He’d sort the pills later to see if there was anything worth selling.

  He didn’t want anyone identifying her if she was found before she woke up. They’d call the cops, who’d call Denny. He didn’t want Denny knowing his mother had been drugged. Not until Denny had provided his alibi. Denny could be unpredictable when it came to their mother. It would be best to let him think she had passed out from heat stroke. It was certainly hot enough for that to be a believable possibility.

  He hesitated, then placed her empty handbag under her head, feeling another twinge of remorse. But it was done now. He had no choice but to push forward.

  Turning away from the hedge, he spotted the girls. They’d left the swings, and now Janie was climbing up the steps to the slide, Jazzie right behind her. Janie was smiling. Jazzie was not. She didn’t look like she wanted to play.

  She looked . . . shell-shocked. But she hadn’t seen him yet. And he couldn’t have scripted this moment any better if he’d tried. He waited until Janie had started to slide down, then started running. He grabbed her as she got to the bottom and spun her in a circle befo
re she had a chance to even squeak. ‘Janie, baby! It’s Daddy. Daddy’s come home.’

  Janie struggled, then recognized him, likely from the photos that Valerie had kept in her apartment. ‘Daddy!’ Her cry was one of pure joy, and for another moment he felt the briefest of twinges. Regret. He’d once had this welcome every evening, but it hadn’t been real. The girls weren’t his. Valerie had lied and ruined all their lives.

  Jazzie had frozen at the top of the slide, her face growing white as a sheet. Her mouth opened and she drew a breath, like she wanted to scream.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He realized at that moment that he’d still harbored a little hope that she hadn’t seen him in her mother’s apartment. But she had. She knew. Walk away now. Right now.

  But if he did, he’d be a hunted man for the rest of his life. Forever looking over his shoulder. He swallowed hard. As Janie tightened her little arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, Jazzie stared at him in horror, frozen in place.

  Prison, asshole. That little girl staring at you like you’re Frankenstein’s monster could send you to prison for the rest of your fucking life. That cannot happen.

  That would not happen.

  Holding Janie with one hand, he reached into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out his gun, just far enough for Jazzie to see it. He put it back in his pocket, but kept his hand on the barrel.

  ‘Come along, Jazzie. Let’s take a walk.’ She was eleven and smart. Smart enough to understand the threat to her sister. Smart enough to obey.

  Which was what she did. On shaky legs, she climbed back down the ladder and approached him like he was a snake, coiled to strike. Yep. Smart girl.

  Jazzie’s eyes were wild, her lips a tense line. Anyone looking at her would know she was fucking terrified.

  Janie lifted her head from his shoulder. ‘Where’s Grandma?’

  ‘Grandma went to the store,’ he lied smoothly. ‘She wanted to give us some time alone. To get to know each other again.’ The words were for Janie. It was clear that Jazzie didn’t believe him. ‘Let’s go get some ice cream.’

  ‘Ice cream!’ Janie said happily. Jazzie said nothing, and Janie patted his shoulder. ‘Don’t mind her. She’s been like that since Mama . . .’ Her face crumpled, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘I know, honey,’ he said, keeping his eyes on Jazzie’s face.

  Jazzie’s eyes flashed, the set of her mouth downright hostile. He’d seen that look before, on Valerie’s face when he’d forced his way into her apartment a month ago. She hadn’t worn that look for long. He’d beaten it off her.

  Along with her face. Jazzie knew he’d done that. So yeah, he could understand her hostility. But anyone looking at her right now would call 911.

  ‘Smile,’ he said, giving Janie a little boost to sit higher on his hip. ‘I mean it, Jazzie.’

  ‘She won’t,’ Janie confided loudly. ‘She’s sad and mad and cranky all the time.’

  ‘Well, ice cream might sweeten her up,’ he said to Janie, gesturing to Jazzie with the gun in his pocket. ‘My car is this way.’

  He led them to the car, put Jazzie in the back seat and closed the door. Not trusting the child lock to keep her in, he’d removed the handles from every door but his own. Jazzie’s lips began to quiver, and once again, he felt that goddamn motherfuckin’ twinge. Resolutely he pushed it away.

  He put Janie in the front passenger seat and belted her in. ‘I’m not supposed to sit up front,’ she informed him, her eyes wide. ‘On account of the car bags.’

  ‘The airbags?’ He hoped like hell Jazzie was smart enough not to try to run. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he would if he had to. Don’t make me, Jazzie.

  ‘Yeah, those. Aunt Lilah says they can explode and break my nose.’ She leaned forward. ‘Or maybe even kill me,’ she added in a stage whisper.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about this car. It’s too old to have airbags.’

  Janie’s eyes popped wider. ‘Then it’s not safe!’

  ‘It’ll be fine. Not everyone has money like your aunt Lilah,’ he added, hearing the note of bitterness in his own voice. Stop it. Back to the plan. From the small cooler at her feet he took the cup of juice he’d prepared and gave it to her. ‘Drink this, honey. It’s a hot day and this car doesn’t have A/C either.’

  In the back, Jazzie opened her mouth as if to warn Janie not to drink, but Gage stopped her with one look.

  ‘Okay,’ Janie said cheerfully. ‘I like grape juice.’

  ‘I remember.’ He didn’t really remember. Valerie had handled all the kid shit, but the children’s liquid Benadryl was grape-flavored, so he figured the juice would mask the taste.

  Janie guzzled it down, then handed him the empty cup. ‘Yum!’ she pronounced. ‘That was good. Can I have more?’

  ‘Maybe with your ice cream.’

  He got in the car and started it up, only to see Janie looking over her shoulder, her expression stricken. ‘Jazzie’s crying. You forgot to give her juice. Her feelings are hurt.’

  ‘I did forget. I’ll give her juice in a little while.’ He had questions to ask her first. He pulled out of the parking lot and exhaled quietly. He had them both now.

  But what were his next steps? They’d seen his face. They couldn’t live. He hadn’t thought about how exactly he’d . . . God. His hands clenched the steering wheel. He hadn’t planned exactly how he’d kill them. It would have to be painless. More sedative, he thought. He’d give them sleeping pills and they’d go to sleep. No pain.

  By the time they were halfway to his rented room, Janie was sound asleep. ‘It was just Benadryl,’ he told Jazzie, which was the truth. ‘Neither of you will get hurt if you cooperate and do everything I say.’ Which was a dirty lie.

  Jazzie was shaking like a damn leaf. In the rear-view mirror, he watched as her chin lifted and she swallowed hard. ‘W-where is G-Grandma? R-really?’

  Shit. Gage had hoped she’d grown out of that stutter. ‘Back at the park.’

  ‘D-d-d-dead?’ A thread of hysteria wound through her stuttered syllables.

  ‘No, just asleep. I gave her medicine to make her sleep, just like Janie. She’s not dead, I promise.’

  ‘I . . . I d-don’t believe you.’

  He shrugged. ‘Whatever. Believe what you want. Just don’t try anything crazy or Janie won’t live to see six.’

  ‘I h-hate you,’ she said, all on one huff of air. ‘I w-w-wish you w-were d-dead.’

  He couldn’t blame her. ‘Get in line, kid. Look, I just want information. I’m not gonna hurt you.’

  He felt the change and checked the rear view to see a little of the tension seeping from her bony little shoulders. ‘Y-y-you’re not g-gonna k-k-kill us? R-really?’

  ‘If you do what I say, I won’t hurt you or Janie.’ God, he was convincing. He almost believed it himself.

  She nodded uncertainly. ‘O-k-kay.’

  ‘What I want to know is who you’ve told.’

  ‘N-nobody.’

  ‘Not even your aunt Lilah?’

  ‘Nnnn . . .’ She gritted her teeth in frustration. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She closed her eyes, her jaw set. ‘P-p-pencil, p-p-please.’

  That was a better plan. Her stuttering was irritating him. He was stopped at a light, so he rummaged through the glove box, hoping the car’s previous owner had left something to write with. He found a stub of pencil and a yellowed vehicle registration card.

  He handed the card and the pencil back to Jazzie with a stern look. ‘Don’t try anything funny, or you’ll make me mad. You won’t like me when I’m mad.’ He lifted his brows menacingly. ‘In fact you’ve already seen what I can do when I’m mad.’

  She nodded tremulously as she took the items from his hand. The k
id had guts, he had to admit. The light turned green, so he started driving again. ‘I want to know why you didn’t tell.’

  He drove in silence until he was stopped at another red light. He looked behind him. Jazzie was holding out the card. Because I was afraid you’d find out and kill me, she’d written in one of the margins. He handed it back.

  ‘Smart girl. Who is the therapist you’ve been seeing?’

  An indrawn breath from the backseat had him turning to look at the stubborn jut of her jaw. ‘Don’t even think about lying to me,’ he snarled. ‘See, now you’re starting to make me mad. Write it, dammit.’

  Traffic began to move, and he made his way through the streets to his rented room. He parked the car behind the rooming house and held out his hand for the card. ‘Taylor Dawson,’ he read aloud. ‘Good choice, Jazzie. Very good choice. See, I already knew her name. I was just testing you, to see if you’d tell the truth or if you were a little liar.’

  Her eyes flashed in anger. ‘I . . . I d-d-don’t l-l-lie.’

  ‘I hope not. What did you say to the Dawson woman?’

  She dropped her gaze to the card, wrote two words, then handed it back to him. ‘Thank you?’ he read, puzzled. He looked back at her. ‘You’re welcome?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Th-that’s w-what I s-s-said. Th-thank you.’

  ‘What else?’ he demanded.

  ‘Th-that’s all.’

  She’d lied about not lying. She must have. She lies nearly as well as her mother, in fact. ‘Two words? That’s all you said to her? You expect me to believe that?’

  She turned her head deliberately to stare out of the car’s window. ‘It’s t-true.’