by CJ Lyons
“And no doubt advertised,” Luka said mostly to himself.
“He’s killed again, hasn’t he—is it Dom, is it really Dom doing this?” Her words came machine-gun fast, leaving her breathless again. “I just—I can’t believe it. I’ve known him for over a decade. I wouldn’t have a career if it weren’t for him. Who has he killed now?”
“A man by the name of Patrick Rademacher appears to have drowned. In Smithfield, on the same street as the nursing home that Trudy visited. And from the state of the body, I’m guessing he was killed the same day she was here.”
“The link. That’s why he killed Trudy. She must have seen him near the scene of the crime.”
More than a link, Luka thought. It meant that they needed to take Chaos’ list of possible victims much more seriously. If he killed Rademacher, then there had to be other true victims out there as well. He shook his head. Leah was right. Chaos lied. But how to tease the truth from the lies? Because only by finding real victims did they have any hope of obtaining the evidence they needed to locate and convict Chaos.
McKinley came back on the line. “I’ll coordinate with the locals, but Smithfield has such a small department, I’m sure they’ll punt it to the staties right away. Finish up there and come on home—Ahearn wants to form a taskforce with us and the state police and other local jurisdictions. He’s calling in the FBI to do a profile and the marshals to help us track Massimo. I need you back here to coordinate and give them your full cooperation in regards to your fiancée’s case.”
He hung up before Luka could ask any questions. Pretty obvious that Ahearn was doing some punting of his own—by forming a multi-jurisdictional taskforce, he’d get extra resources and avoid the bill, all the while keeping the fame and glory for himself.
Luka trudged back to the hot tub, just in time to watch them fish the bloated, crow-pecked body out from the stew of decomposition fluids. “Would a time frame of two days fit for time of death?”
The coroner wore a medical respirator, hiding most of his face, but he bore a remarkable resemblance to the corporal, making Luka wonder if they were related. “Got to do some calculations. Check ambient temps over the past two nights, larval development, what have you.” His gaze went distant as if he were doing the math in his head. “Could be. Definitely not too much longer or he’d be a lot more gone than what he is.” Then he shrugged. “Whatever I say, the state police’s forensic pathologist will have his own ideas. If were you, I’d wait for the report to be sure.”
Luka was halfway back to Cambria City when his phone chimed. Harper. “Jericho here.”
She answered in a near-whisper. “Wanted to update you.” In the background he could hear a woman’s voice, although he couldn’t make out the words. “On Cliff Vogel.”
“Aren’t you with McKinley interviewing Risa Saliba?”
“He has me monitoring from the observation room. I don’t think he likes the idea of a uniform working plainclothes.”
“It’s not that. His guys work plainclothes all the time.”
“Then tell me how to make him listen. Maggie discovered something that might be important.”
“Something they need to ask Risa about?”
“No.” He sensed her frustration even over the static-filled connection. “Maggie doesn’t think the video was livestreamed. She says Vogel might have been killed hours before it was sent to Risa.”
“What does Sanchez say? And has Ford Tierney given us an official window for time of death?”
“I have Sanchez working on it and we haven’t heard anything from the ME yet.”
“It might be days before we do.” Luka thought about it. Other than giving the killer a head start, the time of death didn’t have an immediate impact on which leads to follow next. Better for McKinley to finish learning everything he could from Risa and then add that knowledge to Harper’s new theory about the timestamp being misleading. “I’d wait until the interview is finished before you share all this with McKinley. He’s never worked the investigative side before now. Maybe feed things to him in bite-sized chunks.”
“Like you did for me on my first case. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Did he let Leah take the lead on the interview?”
“Yeah. He’s actually playing it smart, sitting in the back corner, listening, not interrupting, letting her and Risa find their own pace. Slow going, but we’re almost done.”
“Krichek will call you if anything happens. Ahearn is calling in the staties and feds for help, forming a taskforce.”
“Which means I’ll be off the case? They won’t need two of us and Krichek is a detective, has seniority.” Her yearning for a chance to prove herself worthy of promotion to detective wasn’t subtle.
“We’ll see. Either way, good work. Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Luka had just reached Route 11 when another call came through, this time from an unknown number. “Detective Sergeant Jericho.”
“Luka, it’s Emily. Miss Emily Wright,” she repeated as if multiple young girls with chirpy-birdlike voices had his number. But he realized that she was whispering, her words coming sharp and fast. “You need to come quick, before they hurt Nate.”
“Slow down, Emily. Where are you?”
“Billy and Jimmy Homan’s farm.”
The Homan place was only a few miles away. Luka gunned the engine. “What happened?”
“Hurry. They’re going to shoot him. Luka, I’m scared.”
He sped past the entrance to Jericho Fields. The Homans were just another two miles down the road. “I’m almost there. Get somewhere safe.”
“I can’t leave Nate—”
The fury rose in his voice. “Hide, Emily!”
Then came the sound of a gunshot and Emily screaming.
Forty-One
Luka put Emily on hold only long enough to call in for backup, then returned to her call. From her rapid breathing, it sounded like she was running, and he hoped she found a place to hide. He spun onto the Homans’ dirt road, now slick with mud and puddles. Past the barns there was a crowd lined up around a small fenced-in dog run. At the house across from the kennel three women stood on the porch along with an assortment of young children. No weapons visible, allowing him to turn his attention to the two boys holding paintball rifles while next to them one of the adult women held a shotgun and two of the adult males had semi-automatic pistols.
All aimed at Nate, sitting in the mud, shielding a dog with his body. Nate glared at the men, fearlessly.
Luka blasted his siren to draw their attention away from Nate. In addition to the visible weapons, Luka was sure that there would be more in the house and other buildings. He was outnumbered at least eight to one, not counting the unarmed children. Regulations said he should wait for backup.
To hell with the rules. That was his boy. Even if Nate hadn’t been family, the sight of grown men and women terrorizing a young child who was trying to help a poor animal—Luka had never truly felt his blood boil before, he was usually the one remaining calm, uninvolved, but now he finally knew what that level of rage and fury felt like.
He left his car, hand resting on his weapon, and slowly approached the crowd. The woman and one of the men swung their weapons to cover him while the other man kept his gun on Nate—as if an eight-year-old unarmed boy was a threat.
“Detective Sergeant Luka Jericho, Cambria City PD,” he called, making sure his coat was pulled back to reveal his badge at his belt. He’d arrested a few of the Homans when he was in uniform, but wasn’t stopping to put names with faces. Right now he was more interested in what their hands were doing. “I got a 911 call of a disturbance. If everyone could please put their weapons on the ground and step away, I’m sure we can sort this all out.”
The crowd was still for a long moment. Luka kept his breathing steady, forcing himself not to glance at Nate but to focus on the immediate threat. Someone in the back of the crowd sniggered, then came the sound of
a child giggling. The adults relaxed.
“Sure thing, officer.” Luka recognized the man in front, Dale Homan, as he spoke. Dale fanned his fingers away from his pistol’s trigger and with an overdramatic, exaggerated motion set the pistol on the ground. “Sorry if our second amendment rights intimidate you. Wouldn’t want you to feel scared for yourself.”
That drew another round of snickers from the crowd behind him.
“We’re in our rights,” the woman said, still holding her shotgun but pointing it down at the ground. “Caught him trying to steal our dog.”
“Trespassing and theft,” Dale said. “You going to arrest him? Do your duty and lock him up?”
“Clear a path, step away from the kennel and the boy,” Luka replied. The crowd shifted slightly—enough so that Nate could go through the kennel gate. Except he didn’t.
“Nate, get over here. Now.” Luka inserted every level of command into his tone. Not that it did any good.
“No, sir,” Nate shouted, his arms wrapped around the cowering dog. Both the dog and Nate were splattered with paint ball impacts. But no blood that Luka could see in the dim light of the gathering dusk and misty rain. “Not leaving him. He’s hurt.”
Luka heard a car pull up behind him. No lights or sirens, which was probably for the best—no need to infuse more drama into an already tense situation. A car door slammed and the Homans all turned to look at the newcomer. Luka glanced over his shoulder just as Ruby Quinn, Leah’s mother, stalked past him, going straight for Dale Homan.
“This how you people get your kicks?” she shouted. “Terrorizing little kids and poor defenseless animals? You all get into the house right now, or I’ll do more than call the cops, I’ll call someone who can really ruin your life and you know exactly who I’m talking about, don’t you, Dale Homan?”
To Luka’s surprise Dale looked down, scuffed his feet. He masked the motion by bending forward to retrieve his gun, making Luka tense his fingers around his own weapon, but simply shoved it into the back of his jeans. “We was just fooling, Miss Ruby,” he said sheepishly. “Can’t no one take a joke?”
“Joke’s over.” Ruby raised her hands and waved them. “Go on now, back inside.” The crowd slowly dispersed to their respective domiciles leaving Luka, Ruby, Dale, and Nate. “Emily Wright, get your skinny butt out here before I spank it raw!”
From the shadows of a metal barn, Emily stepped forward. “Sorry, Miss Ruby. Don’t blame Nate. It’s all my fault. I’m the captain, he was just the navigator.”
Luka had no idea what she was talking about, but at this point all that mattered was getting them out. Keeping his gaze on Dale and the house behind him, he edged over to the kennel and opened the gate. “C’mon, Nate. We’re leaving. Now.”
“He needs help.” Nate drew back far enough for Luka to see the animal’s wounds. The poor thing had been whipped and beaten, starved to the point where its shoulder blades were like two knife edges beneath its matted fur. “Can we take him with us?”
“That dog’s going nowhere. Belongs to my kids,” Homan said. “And that boy is the one who hurt him. You can’t prove otherwise.”
“The dog’s been shot with a paintball gun,” Luka pointed out the obvious. “And the boy is unarmed.”
“Just my boys defending themselves best they could. Besides, maybe he got rid of the evidence. No matter. It’s our dog and he’s staying here.”
“I got evidence, Mr. Luka,” Emily said, running over to Luka. She handed him her phone. “Here, I videoed everything.”
A patrol car pulled in and two officers emerged. Luka waved them over as he watched the video. It showed the Homan boys shooting paintballs at the dog and Nate, then their father and uncle pointing handguns at Nate, one of them laughing as he fired into the mud a few feet in front of Nate. The sight had Luka clenching his jaw so hard his ears popped. And yet Nate had stood his ground, refusing to be cowed. A flush of pride overwhelmed Luka. He couldn’t wait to tell Pops. “What were you two doing here anyway?”
Emily answered. Hands on hips, she glared at Dale. “Billy and Jimmy stole Nate’s medal, the one from World War Two that his great-great-grandfather won for bravery. And they wouldn’t give it back, so we came to get it.”
Ruby joined Emily, adding her glare to the little girl’s. “Well?”
“My boys ain’t no thieves. Must’ve been a misunderstanding.” Dale swiveled his gaze to the house. “Boys! Get out here and bring whatever you too—borrowed from this kid.”
Emily had done a good job of documenting several crimes: cruelty to animals, child endangerment, he could maybe even squeeze a felony assault for the weapons fire. But there was something even better caught by Emily’s video.
A black Dodge Ram parked in the metal garage. Its front bumper and hood were dented and smeared with bright orange paint. Tangerine Daze-glow, to be exact.
Thanks to Nate and Emily, he’d just found his hit and run bicyclist victim Gary Wagner’s killers.
Forty-Two
Given its traumatized clientele, the CIC’s adult interview room had been designed to convey a sense of intimacy, security, and comfort. After their more than two hours of conversation, Leah was more exhausted than after a shift in the ER.
It didn’t help that the only break they’d taken had come when Luka called to ask Risa about the dead man he’d found in Smithfield. Risa had refused every offer of a break, saying that she just wanted to get it over with. Finally, McKinley was satisfied that he’d learned everything he could from her and they finished for the day.
McKinley and Harper left first while Leah remained to do a bit of crisis intervention with Risa; even though the journalist denied any need of counseling—said it was no different than reporting from a war zone, and she was merely an objective observer—Leah knew firsthand the cost of walling off emotions. Together they ran through a series of breathing and relaxation techniques.
“It’s been a long few days,” Leah said as she escorted Risa from the CIC back into the main ER where Jack was waiting. “First, Trudy, then learning about Dom—are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you?”
“Help the cops find the bastard and we’ll be happy,” Jack answered, taking Risa’s arm in his.
“Thanks, Leah. This has been a real help,” Risa said, giving Jack a “behave yourself” look as they left.
Leah returned to her office to finish her charting and saw that the preliminary results of Risa’s tox screen were back. Because of Risa’s amnesia and lost time, Leah had ordered a complete tox panel on Risa’s blood, urine, and hair.
This initial rapid assay focused mainly on drugs of abuse. Leah was surprised to see that there was a positive finding: gamma hydroxybutyrate or GHB. Known for its use as a club drug, in addition to its other effects, it caused sedation and short-term amnesia.
Given GHB’s short half-life, the fact that it was still in Risa’s system meant she’d been dosed within the last twenty-four hours. Dom had supposedly left Risa’s after dinner—unless he hadn’t? Maybe Jack’s confusion about when Risa’s symptoms from the nicotine ingestion began was because he’d also been sedated? Maybe Dom had returned—or had never left—and then to cover his tracks gave Risa the nicotine this morning before he made his escape?
Then she thought of something else. GHB was known as a date rape drug. Could Dom have sexually assaulted Risa last night and no one, not even Risa, knew? Dom was obsessed with Risa, that much was clear by simple observation.
She called Risa. No answer. Right, the police had taken Risa’s phone. Next, she tried Jack. “What do you need, Leah?”
“Are you guys still in the hospital?”
“We just finished all the paperwork and are halfway to our car.”
“Which floor of the garage are you parked at?”
“The roof. Why?”
“Wait for me. I’m on my way.” Leah grabbed her bag and coat and headed out to the parking garage.
Jack was waiting for her at the el
evator bank on the roof. The sun had been obscured by thick clouds and it looked like the rain would soon be returning. Risa was nowhere in sight. There were only a handful of cars up here, including Jack’s paneled van with the Keystone logo.
“Look, Risa’s exhausted,” Jack started before Leah could say anything. “I know she puts on a brave face for you and the cops, but as soon as we left the ER, she pretty much collapsed.” His tone turned pleading. “Please, I beg you. You can’t keep asking her to go through this.”
“I have her preliminary results,” Leah told him.
“Give them to me, then.”
“You know I can’t do that—confidentiality.”
“Then it will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll have her call you.” He turned to leave, when Leah stopped him.
“Jack, I can’t tell you what Risa’s results are, but it would be a huge help if I could test you as well.”
He spun back, surprised. “Me? What for? What kind of test? I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“It’s a simple tox screen.”
“Tox screen. You mean a drug screen.” His gaze narrowed and he positioned himself with his back to the van, also blocking anyone in the van from seeing Leah. “If you want to test me, there must be a specific drug you’re looking for. What is it, Leah? What do you want to test me for? I have a right to know.”
“Gamma hydroxybutyrate.” He might draw his own conclusions about Risa, but he was right, he needed to know what she was testing him for.
“Gamma—that’s GHB, a date rape drug.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the van. “Risa—” He shook his head vigorously, then his shoulders slumped as the full implications hit him. “That bastard—” He seemed close to tears, a low moaning coming from deep in his throat. He turned away, his arms wrapped around his chest beneath his jacket. “It’s all my fault. I couldn’t protect her.”