Rainey with a Chance of Hale (A Rainey Bell Thriller Book 6)

by R. E. Bradshaw

  “Yes, that’s him. He also wrote the program that found Ellie when she ran. He’s different, but he’s brilliant.”

  “Most programmers are,” Cathleen said. “When Danny decided he was done with DC, I realized I didn’t want to stay there without him. He suggested we come here and things fell into place.”

  Danny said, “We bid on the house sight unseen. We found out we got it yesterday.”

  Rainey raised her beer into the air. Danny and the others followed suit with their respective beverages.

  “Cheers to good neighbors, lifelong friends, and having family close. Welcome home, you two.”

  When they relaxed back into their seats, Rainey asked, “What made you finally decide to leave, Danny? It wasn’t just my asking you to work with me. What tipped the scale?”

  “Alternative facts.” He tilted his head back and sighed.

  Katie sat up on the edge of her seat. “Yes! I wanted to throw something through the TV.”

  Danny stared up at the dark sky. A few stars winked through the wisps of clouds. The moon had a brown ring around it, foretelling of storms to come. No one said a word. All eyes were on Danny. He remained in the same posture as he finally began to speak.

  “If only we knew then what we know now, only we did, and no one did a thing about it.”

  “We will never know it all, will we?” Katie asked.

  Danny lowered his head and said, “No.”

  He then finished his beer in a long slow pull on the bottle. He stood and crossed to the refrigerator, grabbed another, and turned back to Rainey.

  “You asked what finally did me in. It wasn’t a case or a victim that tipped the scale. I found myself in a city filled with alternative truths that inspired a perpetual state of pondering what if…”

  Rainey remembered that state of mind. She’d been there herself after the attack that almost took her life. She smiled at her friend and tipped her beer bottle in his direction. “Welcome to Bell-McNally Investigations. Where the only ‘if’ we have to ponder is if we’re going to work from home or the office.”

  Danny twisted off the top of his beer and raised it for another toast.

  “Let the mayhem begin.”

  #

  “Junior has controlling interest in the bail business now. Mackie and I are not out fetching skippers, which pleases both of our respective spouses.”

  Rainey sat behind the desk in her home office. Seated across from her with a three-ring binder in his lap, Danny perused the case file created during the years Rainey followed Chance Hale’s movements. Katie and Cathleen had long since gone to bed. While the future Bell-McNally investigators exchanged information on Hale, Rainey filled Danny in on the lives of the staff of Bell’s Bail, with whom he soon would be sharing office space.

  “Mackie is basically retired, which delights Thelma to no end. They bought an RV and are gone more than they are home these days.”

  Danny looked up from the binder to ask, “How’s Ernie? Is she feeling better from that bout of pneumonia?”

  “Ernie is excellent. That was a bit scary, but she’s too mean to die,” Rainey said, knowing if anything happened to that old woman it would devastate her. “She still comes to work two days a week, more out of boredom than need. She put away quite a retirement fund and does not need to work anymore. I do the billing for the consultant business, and Junior’s wife handles the books for Bell’s Bail.”

  “I’m glad to hear she’s feeling better,” Danny said, turning another page.

  “She shows up on Tuesdays and Thursdays to help keep my schedule up to date and read through cases. Still playing gatekeeper, it works for both of us. As it turns out, Ernie has a knack for spotting overlooked little things in old case files, things dismissed as irrelevant that turn out to be important.”

  “That’s a useful skill. Hey, I meant to ask you about Wendy. She sent me a letter, thanked me for the recommendation, but she withdrew her application to the Academy.”

  Rainey nodded, indicating that she knew. “After her kidnapping, she reevaluated what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She wants to work with at risk kids.”

  “Is she quitting law enforcement?” Danny asked.

  “No, she wants to stay in the department, but she’ll be in juvenile crimes. Wendy said she wanted to help kids like Barron, not lock them up.” Rainey smiled and added, “You know, she started the paperwork to officially adopt that kid.”

  “You seem pleased.”

  “I am. I’m proud of my sister. I’m proud of Barron too. He’s doing great in school. You’ll see him in the morning. He helps Wendy coach the triplets’ soccer team.”

  “I can’t wait to see them play this year. Has this age group progressed beyond just running around in circles or picking dandelions?”

  Rainey chuckled. “Let’s just say there are less of them wandering aimlessly about the field.”

  Danny reached for his notepad on the corner of the desk. He had been taking notes as he flipped through Rainey’s old Chance Hale file.

  He commented as he wrote, “I see here that Dr. Munzer identified the tool marks on the skull as coming from a bullhook, or ankus, or whatever you call that elephant prod.”

  “A goad,” Rainey said. “It’s an elephant goad. It’s used to guide elephants. When used correctly and humanely, it keeps both keeper and animal safe. It took Munzer a while to find it. She took her grandkids to the circus, and it clicked. She spent a lot of time researching and talking to elephant managers until she found a closely matching example out of hundreds of customized bullhooks. This was long after Chance went to prison. He hasn’t granted any interviews, so I don’t know how a tool like that connects to him or Hale Trucking.”

  “Interesting choice of weapon. That has to be a major clue,” Danny said, writing as he spoke.

  “Yeah, it means something to this killer. They didn’t find a bullhook in Chance’s truck, but that accident scene was a mess, people everywhere, stuff scattered all over the road.”

  “Munzer says in her report that the ‘hook is not really a hook.’ What does she mean?”

  “Look,” Rainey said while bending a paperclip back and forth until she broke off a small section.

  She worked it into a hook shape on one side and then jammed the still straight side into the eraser of a pencil. Rainey tapped the miniature hook against the desktop surface.

  “It makes a linear mark when swung like this.”

  She began to reshape the hook.

  “Now if I open this hook more and mold it like this, it looks like a squiggly, slightly bent cane handle. Now if I swing it at something, I will still get the linear wound, but this blunt end here will sink further into the skull. That’s what she meant by ‘not a hook.’ “

  Danny compared photos of the skulls sent to Quantico in the care of Rainey. There were six total, received by Dr. Munzer from January of 2000 to June of 2005.

  “Okay,” he said. “I see what she means. There is this puncture at the bottom of the wound, and the rest is a more crushing blow.”

  Rainey lifted a picture from her desk and held it out to Danny. “The same wound is on the skull found in Albemarle Sound. The teeth marks are there too.”

  “Did they ever figure out what those teeth belonged to?” Danny asked.

  Rainey shook her head. “Munzer talked to wildlife experts. They all agreed that the animal that made them could have crushed the skull. Instead, it played with it, gnawed on it. They were sure the teeth marks were non-aggressive in nature, like a dog chewing a bone. What they couldn’t agree on was the species of animal that made the marks. Black bear and mountain lion received the most votes.”

  “Shouldn’t it be easy to distinguish between those two?”

  Rainey explained, “Munzer said the teeth marks weren’t normal. The experts thought maybe the bite had been changed due to injury.”

  “Lions and bears and elephant goads,” Danny said. “There isn’t much normal about this cas
e. And to add to that, I’m going to agree with you. I don’t think Joshua Hale did any of these first four murders. I believe there might be more than one serial murderer in this family. The frozen lake murder victims had slightly different head wounds, but the freezing is the same, the knots are the same. Tying that knot in the packaging of the bones delivered to Quantico screams compulsory linkage.”

  “I always wanted to lay a piece of rope on the table in front of Chance Hale, just to see how compulsive his rope fetish is. But I’ve never had the opportunity to thoroughly interview him. A guardian or Blackman always seemed to swoop in to protect him.”

  “Speaking of Blackman, did you hear back from Molly?”

  “Hang on, I’ll look.” Rainey checked her email.

  Horace Blackman had been Molly Kincaid’s mentor and former law partner. Blackman’s Law Firm became Kincaid Law Firm. Rainey had sent an email to Molly, her closest friend since leaving the BAU and sometime client, asking about conflict of interest.

  “Okay, yes, here we go. Molly says there is no conflict of interest. She checked the firm’s records. Apparently, Blackman handled Chance’s legal woes off the books, for whatever reason. There were no records linking the law firm to Chance or Hale Trucking.”

  Danny put his pen down and considered Rainey for a few seconds. “Do you think you could be wrong about Hale? He was in prison when Vanessa Wilhelm’s remains turned up in that crab pot contraption in the sound.”

  Rainey pointed at the binder in Danny’s lap. “There is too much circumstantial evidence for him not to be involved in some way. He’s either a stone cold killer or he knows one. I stand by that judgment.”

  “Wood believed you too,” Danny said. “This case put you in the BSU training program. That says a lot about Wood’s confidence in your abilities and the case you built.”

  “Remind me to thank Chance for my career break.” Rainey thought for a second, and then asked, “Why does he want to see me, Danny?”

  “Hale is scheduled for release next week. Florida has hinted they may prosecute him for a murder from 2000. That, coupled with the body found in his old North Dakota home may have been motivating factors in his asking to see you now. I think the uncertainty may have driven him to manipulate the situation. His defense already suggested you tampered with evidence. This might be an attempt to implicate you further or to find out what we know.”

  “And this will be his first interview since he entered prison?” Rainey asked and then qualified the question. “I just assumed he’d consent left and right to gain an audience for his persecuted-innocent act.”

  “The BAU sent him a request for an interview every year he’s been incarcerated. We sent requests to his remaining family members and people who worked closely with Joshua Hale. We never received a positive response from anyone.”

  “No employees would talk to me either. That company had a cult vibe. Does it still exist?”

  Danny shook his head and began flipping back through his notes, as he spoke. “No. Hang on. Okay, here it is. Hale Trucking dissolved in 2010. Up to that point, Robby Hughes ran it, at least on paper. Slowly, a stockholder named Jean Berry bought Robby and Chance out, loaning them money against their shares. Easy picking it would seem. Hale Trucking was dissolved and absorbed by a Löwenherz Industries, LLC.”

  “I met Jean Berry. She was the office manager.”

  Danny looked up from his notepad. “Ms. Berry managed those two boys and took the family business by being an opportunistic loan shark. She sold off the land and equipment and cashed out with a hefty retirement fund.”

  “Good for her,” Rainey said. “So, Chance is getting out next week.”

  “He thinks he is, anyway. When Chance contacted us last week, consenting to an interview but stipulating you come along, we had to ask you. I think he relied on that. So, we specified that if he wants to talk to you, he has to let us listen. Whether he is a son of a serial killer or an actual serial murderer himself, either way, the BAU wants to know what went on in that family.”

  “Well, his genetics is undoubtedly interesting, to say the least,” Rainey offered.

  Danny nodded in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve seen a more twisted family tree before.”

  “No kidding,” Rainey agreed and then asked, “What’s going on with the DNA from the remains they found behind the wall in North Dakota?”

  “I’m not sure,” Danny said. “I’ll check on that tomorrow.”

  Rainey turned her attention to the computer screen and scrolled through more of Chance’s prison records.

  A few quiet minutes went by while they both read, until Rainey asked, “Is this a legit suicide attempt, or was he drug seeking that first year in prison?”

  “Well, he stabbed himself in the neck with a pen. Whether it was a suicide or not, it definitely warranted intervention.” Danny paused and looked up at Rainey. He chuckled, as he said, “You know, they made him use crayons for years after that.”

  Rainey smiled back at Danny. He had relaxed since arriving and seemed closer to the person with whom she had spent more late nights than with her slumbering spouse upstairs. She saw his dimple deepen with the simultaneous unspoken realization that they were once again a formidable team. They held the eye contact long enough to prompt knowing nods from both of them before Danny lowered his gaze to the binder in his lap.

  Rainey refocused on the computer screen with the comment, “Did he do his homework in pastels?”

  They both laughed and returned to reading until Rainey said, “Hale committed vehicular homicide, and for that, he received residential drug rehabilitation, mental health counseling, two four-year college degrees, and eight years of three hots and a cot. Sounds like a better deal that student loans. And what are these special skills that keep him at Butner instead of back in Florida?”

  Danny looked up from his note taking. “His degrees are in Design and Mechanical Engineering. He worked with a manufacturer to redesign a medical device used in oncology. That’s my understanding.”

  Rainey read from the computer screen, “He can ‘fix stuff.’ That’s what it says here. Engineering fits well with his OCD diagnosis.”

  Danny pointed his pen toward Rainey’s monitor. “If you look at his disciplinary sheet, it’s clean except for one incident when the contraband sweep officers tossed his cell,” Danny used air quotations around the concluding adverb, “aggressively.”

  Rainey nodded. “I see he had his resulting solitary time reduced by a Dr. Janzen.”

  “He’s a psychiatrist. He went to bat for Chance. He told the COs to knock it off and petitioned for special consideration of Chance’s OCD diagnosis. I’ve noticed nothing in your notes about his obsessive behavior before he went to prison. Do you think he’s acting?”

  “The alcohol and drugs must have masked his obsessive compulsive nature when I was watching him. And remember, I actually spent very little time with him.”

  Danny agreed, “He was definitely self-medicating. According to the prison staff, his compulsory behaviors grew much worse once he was sober. Learning to cope with it is part of his ongoing rehabilitation treatment plan.”

  Rainey asked, “Why is he in the cancer ward?”

  Danny answered, “Inmate Hale had a melanoma removed, according to his records. That’s all I have access to at the moment. I’ll need a warrant to access his other medical records or his consent, which he has been reluctant to give.”

  “Well, if he’s dying, I hope he’s ready to help close these cases.”

  Danny knew her well. He said, “I hope he’s ready to come clean about Alyson Grayson. I know you desperately want to tell her mother what happened to her.”

  Rainey had carried the heavy albatross of her promise to Alyson’s mother for nearly twenty years, but never fully understood what that promise meant until she had children of her own.

  Rainey looked across the desk at Danny and quoted a familiar Coleridge poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, “Since then, a
t an uncertain hour, that agony returns. And till my ghastly tale is told, this heart within me burns.”

  12

  March 25, 2017

  Homestead Park

  Chapel Hill, NC

  “In the age six and under group, youth soccer is less about the game itself, and more about one or two gifted athletes in the bunch being casually followed about inside a delineated area until someone says the snacks are ready.”

  Cathleen replied to Katie’s comment, “Oh, I think they’re precious. And look at your three. They are tearing it up out there.”

  “Weather, no hitting,” Wendy King said, as Weather took a swing at the kid who had just tackled her to the ground.

  Wendy turned to her half-sister, “Rainey, I’m going to have to pull her out if she does that again.”

  Weather ran after the ball and was immediately tackled from behind by the same kid. She jumped up this time and planted both palms in his chest, sending him back onto his butt.

  Rainey said to Wendy. “If you don’t go get her, I will. That’s enough of little Miss Cloudy today.”

  Katie stepped up to Rainey’s side and asked, “What’s up with her lately.”

  Barron, Wendy’s foster child, spoke up, “The diva is feeling shade from somewhere.”

  Rainey chuckled and wrapped her arm around Barron’s shoulder. “I love this kid. You are so damn clever.”

  Wendy came back with Weather and a red card. “She’s out for the day. Watch your back. Daddy’s pissed over there.” She indicated with her head the man shouting at the officials.

  Katie asked, “Is the kid hurt?”

  Wendy pushed a substitute onto the field. This one’s shin guards were so loose on his tiny stick legs that they shifted from side to side as he ran out into the fray.

  She answered Katie, “No, only his dad’s pride seems injured. A girl made his boy cry. You know the type.”

  Rainey intercepted Weather on her way to the bench. “Let’s go, grumpy. We need to have a chat.”

  “Watch the boys, Mom,” Katie said to her mother, Melanie Meyers, and then followed Rainey and Weather to a private spot in the park.