The Good Son: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 2)

by Dustin Stevens

  There was no response as he raised her body upright and positioned it back against the sofa, her eyes fluttering open to slits before closing again. She made no effort to help or hinder him as he tilted her head back and poured just a sip of water down her throat, her body not even registering that it had entered until she coughed a moment later.

  The wet spasm forced some life back into her as she hacked three times, most of the water coming back out. Only then did her eyes open wide enough for her to look at him, remaining silent.

  “Here,” The Good Son said as he lifted the cup again to her lips, using his opposite hand to tilt back her chin and pour in just a few drops.

  The doctor referred to the method as lubrication, opening the passage up a little bit before attempting to get the pills down. Only once she was able to consume some water would she have any hope of getting the small white pills down, the medicine vital to keep her body processing what little it could.

  “Okay,” The Good Son said, the word clipped, his voice taut as he moved for the first bottle. With practiced hands, he popped the top and fished out a tiny white pill, holding it to her lips and following it with a bit more of the water.

  Throughout, she merely stared at him, the occasional flicker behind her eyes the only sign of life.

  “Just keep fighting, Mama,” he whispered, moving directly for the second vial. “Almost. We’re almost there.”

  The nap was a mistake, but the current situation was also indicative of where they were. Time was up. If something didn’t happen in the next day, in the coming hours, she would not make it. There was no point going back to the doctor, no excuse to let them continue drawing blood, poking and prodding the poor woman and running their endless tests.

  Until there was a healthy liver, moving her didn’t make any sense. It took too much out of them both, cost money they didn’t have.

  The Good Son watched as the third and then the fourth pill went down. He saw her eyes become more responsive with each one, every sip of water waking her a bit more, though she still remained silent. She simply sat and fixed her gaze on him, the same sad, longing expression she always wore during moments like this.

  It seemed to be the only time the hatred that had taken root in her ever subsided, moving away long enough for The Good Son to see some glimpse of the mother he once knew.

  Staring back at her, sensing exactly what she was trying to say, The Good Son made a decision. The only other person who could possibly be ahead of her on the list was gone. That meant the next organ to come available was earmarked for her. It had to be. Even if he had to carry her and the new donor in together, regardless of what it meant for him, he had to get his mother that liver.

  “Hang in there,” he whispered, reaching out and patting her on the shoulder. He held the pose a moment before leaning down, pulling her frail form against his bare chest, and hugging her.

  He hated himself for what he was about to do, but just like the others he had killed, there was no way around it.

  If that meant Paul Neil Tudor’s time was up, then so be it.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Reed had no reason to believe the flashers were necessary, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out just the same. They had been fortunate to avoid another casualty the night before, but that guaranteed nothing moving forward. He opted against using the siren just yet, letting the flashing front headlights clear a path as he drove back to the precinct.

  On the seat beside him was a printout that Dan Beauregard, the store manager, had provided him, the sheet weighed down by Reed’s badge. The corners of it flapped slightly as wind pushed through the car, cooling the interior only nominally.

  In total there were 31 names listed, 20 of them male and 11 female. Beyond the list, Beauregard had been little help whatsoever, explaining that they still had an older style machine for card transactions and that they did require ID checks on all credit purchases.

  That part aside, he explained that virtually all 31 employees had access to the registers, every new hire starting as a cashier before moving out into various departments.

  More than once Reed had tried to drill down a little further, asking the man if he knew of anybody with a direct connection to a sick relative or if anybody had shown signs of skittish, unusual behavior in the past week. After much fumbling and stammering, he had been come back with nothing, Reed getting the distinct impression that Beauregard was the type of manager who looked down on his employees. He wouldn’t risk the indignity of actually fraternizing or getting to know a single one of them, no doubt having earned their unending ire in the process.

  His next stop was back to the precinct to run the names he’d been given. If there was only one or two he could call Jackie and ask her, but with this many he needed to be able to see the data for himself. Right now he was still operating on the premise that he knew what he was looking for, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t much more waiting to be uncovered.

  He couldn’t leave that to her. Really couldn’t sacrifice the time it would take dealing with her unending nosiness.

  The shrill sound of Reed’s cell phone erupted from the cup holder on the middle console, ripping Reed away from his train of thought. Using the controls on the door, he raised both front windows and lifted the phone, Bishop’s name appearing on the screen.

  “Mattox.”

  “You could have mentioned we were walking into a damn hornet’s nest,” Bishop said. There was no greeting of any kind, just straight to the comment that showed considerable irritation.

  Reed nodded, remembering his own encounter with Bethanee Cleary all too well. “Yeah, she’s a peach, isn’t she?”

  “A real live Mother Teresa,” Bishop agreed.

  The two detectives could spend the next half hour bemoaning Cleary and every other witness they’d encountered like her over the years. That was the sort of thing to be done over a beer at some point, though, not on the phone in the middle of an active search.

  Redirecting the conversation before it got too far off track, Reed said, “Was she able to help at all?”

  “Eventually. She was sure to let us know that we were intruding, even threatened to have her new boyfriend – she kept referring to him as that, as if it would make a difference – kick our ass for interrupting their Friday night.”

  Picturing Iaconelli and Bishop standing side-by-side, the human depiction of the number 10, one tall and thin, the other short and round, elicited a laugh from Reed. Imagining anybody threatening to kick their asses was almost too much.

  Almost.

  “After Ike threatened to haul her ass in for obstruction she finally disappeared inside, came back with a handful of mail she’d received for Ruggles since the split. Every last piece of it had been opened, though she claimed it all arrived that way.”

  “All of it,” Reed said. “Right.”

  “Yeah,” Bishop said. “If we hadn’t wanted to get our asses out of there, we might have pointed out what she’d done was a federal offense, but we let it slide. But maybe when all this is over…”

  Reed shared the sentiment, waiting for Bishop to get to the part he needed. In front of him, a pair of SUV’s drifted to the side of the road, letting him move right past, the flashers doing their job.

  In the distance ahead he could see the precinct come into view, the flagpole out front lit up by a spotlight.

  “One piece of particular interest was from the support group,” Bishop said, “an announcement of a memorial for a former member who had passed. No name or anything on it, but there’s a return address on the front.

  “We called Greene and Gilchrist and told them to head over. We’re on our way down there now.”

  In one quick movement, Reed jerked the wheel across two lanes, pushing the sedan into the front lot of the precinct. He pulled directly into the first visitor stall and killed the engine, grabbing the keys and his phone at the same time.

  “Good,” Reed said. “I’m at th
e precinct now. I’m going to give Grimes a quick recap of everything and then run the employee list I just got from Big Q.”

  If Bishop wondered at all what Big Q was or why Reed had pulled the employee list, he didn’t voice it.

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything.”

  “We’ll do the same,” Bishop responded.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  When pulling into the lot, Reed hadn’t noticed the van parked three spaces from him. Parked alongside it, though, he could see the letters KCMH and the logo for the local Channel 4 news affiliate. Alongside them was the face of Yasmin Leveritt, a different suit jacket, but the same plastic smile stretched across her face.

  “What the hell?” Reed asked, clipping Billie’s lead and waiting for her to scramble down. He let the question linger in the air, the printouts rolled up in his hand as they cut across the front lawn and through the entrance.

  The air inside was almost the same as that outside, the effect of nearly every employee having left in the preceding hour.

  Together he and Billie went straight for Grimes’s office, finding the door open and the lights on, but nobody inside.

  “Must already be upstairs,” Reed said, raising his pace to a jog, Billie falling in beside him as they passed back through the doors and up the staircase. Reed took them two at a time, still no match for Billie as they reached the second floor, jogged around to the other side, and moved on to the third.

  As they went Reed caught a flash of Jackie’s hair in his periphery, making no effort to stop or even acknowledge her as he went.

  There would be time for that later.

  On the top floor, Reed and Billie went straight for the same room the interview had taken place in a night before. There was no sign of movement outside as they came closer, though shadows played across the floor and voices could be heard.

  By the time Reed arrived it appeared that a second interview was just about to take place. The same cameraman was in position, his long body stooped low, getting both people in the shot.

  Leveritt was in her previous spot, her head turning to Reed as he appeared unexpectedly.

  Across from her Grimes followed the cue, shifting in his seat to see Reed and Billie standing there. “Pardon me a minute,” he said, rising from his seat. He left without waiting for a response, pulling the door shut behind him.

  “What’s going on?” Reed asked, glancing from Grimes to the closed door.

  “Chief Brandt,” Grimes said, making it clear he was not pleased with anything that was transpiring.

  “She sent them down here?” Reed asked, his eyes bulging.

  “Says that after last night, she wants to put people at ease. She’s afraid they might get the wrong impression.”

  The explanation brought a deep frown to Reed’s mouth as he thought of her sitting downtown, more concerned with running damage control than apprehending an active killer.

  “And what impression is that?” Reed asked. “That people should be mindful of a serial killer loose in Franklinton?”

  Grimes opened his mouth to respond, raising both hands in surrender, before dropping them with a heavy sigh. “She told me to get on TV and tell people we’re making progress. That their help was instrumental, and we’ve developed solid leads.”

  The frown on Reed’s face only grew more pronounced. “So she told you to get on the air and tell people to stop calling.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Reed paused, trying to force down the anger he felt for the entire bureaucracy in the department. He thought of Brandt, and her lapdog Dade, before shaking his head to expel the images.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’m just here to update you, use the information if you want. The only three places that showed up in the financial history of all our victims were Wal-Mart, BP, and Big Q.”

  The previous look of disgust faded from Grimes’s features. He raised a hand to his chin, listening intently as Reed continued.

  “The first two I bounced for obvious reasons. I just went out to Big Q and confirmed they do still check ID’s by hand.” He waved the rolled up paper at Grimes and said, “I’ve got their employee list here. Going down right now to start digging.”

  Grimes nodded. “Good.”

  “Also, Bishop said they got an address on the support group. No names, might be nothing. Greene and Gilchrist are en route now, the detectives will meet them there.”

  Once more Grimes nodded. He said nothing, his gaze glossing over as he stood, deep in thought.

  “We good?” Reed asked.

  “We’re good,” Grimes responded. He looked back at the door behind him and said, “Hear me out on this. You’re making good headway. This thing is starting to crack open. If I go in there right now and say that to the cameras, though, like Brandt wants me to...”

  A moment passed, Reed processing the statement before picking up on the insinuation. “Could scare our killer off, send him underground.”

  “Right,” Grimes said. “I’m certainly not trying to dangle anybody out there as bait, but I don’t want to trip you up either.”

  Reed hadn’t considered it, the second interview coming on him so suddenly there hadn’t been time to really think about the possible outcomes, though the captain was correct. Now more than ever, he needed the killer to be moving about as usual, unaware that they were finally starting to circle closer.

  “Have the phones turned up anything useful yet?” Reed asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Not a thing,” Grimes said, both knowing the move was made more as a warning to citizens than a plea for actual help.

  “She’ll chew your ass for it,” Reed said.

  “Probably,” Grimes said, “but remember what happened last time? We catch the damn killer, in the end there isn’t a lot she can say.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Hey, Sugar, what’s going on?”

  Reed stopped at the landing on the second floor, his back to Jackie, and let his eyes drift shut. He pinched his face tight, gritting his teeth, cursing himself for being so foolish.

  Every office in the world, without fail, had a designated gossip, the person who lived for being the first to discover some juicy tidbit of information and disseminate it to all other coworkers, often inserting themselves somehow into the story.

  Jackie was that person in the 8th Precinct. Most of the time that was fine, everybody humoring her with the occasional morsel, or at the very least a feigned apology when they could not afford to tell her anything.

  Tonight, Reed didn’t have the time or the energy for either.

  Rotating on the ball of his foot, Reed took a single step closer.

  “Chaos,” Reed said, summarizing things with just one word. “About 10 different threads suddenly emerged at once, so we’ve got everybody running a different direction trying to get a handle on them.”

  “Oh,” Jackie said, her lips protruding in a slight pout. “Does that mean you don’t have time to fill me in right quick?”

  No part of Reed wanted to say another word. He had things to do, things with a very finite timeframe. Under the best of circumstances, he tried to limit his time at the dispatch desk to only that which was necessary, and even then it was well down his list of favorite things to do.

  To his eternal luck though, he didn’t have to say that.

  The phone on his hip sprang to life, the chirping of the ringtone echoing throughout the space, Jackie’s face falling as Reed pulled the phone free and glanced down at the screen.

  DEREK GREENE.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry…” he said, wagging it once in her direction. Across the room she waved in acceptance, her attention already returning to the magazine spread on the desk before her.

  “Mattox,” Reed said, answering the phone. He remained at the top of the stairwell, unsure whether to bolt back to the computers or run down the stairs for the car.

  A
s far as he knew, Greene was on his way to look into the support group. There weren’t many reasons why he would already be calling, none of them especially good.

  “Hey,” Greene said, his tone telling Reed everything he needed to know, pushing him down the stairs. “We just arrived at the address Bishop gave us. Nobody answered the door but most of the lights in the place were on, so we came inside.”

  Reed’s stomach seized tight as he passed through the lobby and hit the front door, never once breaking stride. The humidity of the outer world wrapped around him the instant he stepped out.

  “Dead body?” Reed asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yup,” Greene said. “Male, late 40s, looks to be in nominally better shape than Henry Ruggles.”

  Again, Reed ignored the front walk in favor of the grass. Despite the humidity, it was brittle to the touch, crackling beneath his feet. “Got an ID?”

  “Not yet,” Greene said. “The place is rough, but doesn’t look like it’s been worked over. Should have something pretty soon here.”

  “I’ll call Earl, and be there by the time you do.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  There existed no doubt in Reed’s mind that this was another in what was becoming an unending string of connected murders. Just the same though, if there was even the smallest chance that the killer ever stood before a judge, Reed had to make sure that every last crime committed was accounted for.

  He also needed to make sure that his canine partner was best positioned to do what she did best. There was no way for Reed to know for sure that her skills would be called on, but the way things were going, it seemed like a safe assumption.

  Pulling out of the precinct, Reed kept the flashers running. The neighborhood was already pretty quiet, only a couple of pairs of brake lights flaring and drifting to the side of the road. Again, he ran without the siren, not seeing the need for it, knowing it would only draw attention at a time when that was the last thing he wanted.

  By the time he arrived, Iaconelli and Bishop were already there, their car parked on the street behind Greene and Gilchrist’s cruiser.