Chase tilted her head to one side, trying to get a new perspective on what Dunbar was saying.
“So is there anything we can use?”
Dunbar started flipping through several sheets of paper on the table in front of him.
“Ah here,” he said, referring to a transcript of text messages. “This is from Neil to Thomas, marked Tuesday December 21st at 2:34 am. There are plenty of typos, but it basically reads: Tommy boy, when you seeing ‘v’ again? I think she likes you, hahaha.”
Chase’s breath caught in her throat.
V is a she.
“What—”
“Wait, there’s more,” Dunbar interrupted, his finger moving to the next line. “Now here’s Thomas’s return text, nine minutes later: No more texts.”
Chase waited.
“That’s it?” she said.
“That’s it for another two weeks,” Dunbar confirmed. “And then we’re back to the nonspeak bro code.”
Chase pulled a chair from the table and sat down, trying to organize all the new information in her mind. After a few moments, she leaned forward, interlacing her fingers, and tapped them against her chin.
“Okay, so these guys go two decades without speaking to each other, then out of the blue, Thomas texts Neil and they start chatting. It’s all idle chitchat, until Neil mentions ‘V’, alluding to her as a female, and Thomas essentially puts a stop to the convo. A month later, both are dead. Do I have that about right?”
Dunbar nodded.
“What about Chris Popo-whatever. Has he contacted Neil or Thomas?” Chase asked.
“Not that I know of—not in Thomas’s phone and not Online.” Dunbar replied.
“Okay, so then I can think of two scenarios: one, is that there is somebody out there targeting these boys for something they did a long time ago—we know for one that Thomas Smith wasn’t always the ideal NY citizen—or something happened when they got together a few months ago. The former is the only scenario that includes Chris. The key is perhaps this mysterious V woman,” Chase paused. “Could she be the one whose blood is on the two men’s backs?”
A hush fell over the detectives.
“Maybe,” Chase said to herself more than anyone else. “Maybe.”
She lifted her eyes and turned to Dunbar.
“Find out everything you can about Tim Jenkins and how he fits into this. Also, I’m going to need the names of all the teachers of classes that the kids were in.”
“That was twenty years ago,” Dunbar complained.
Chase dismissed this with the wave of her hand.
“Retired, still working, doesn’t matter, so long as they are still alive.”
Dunbar nodded and started to stand.
“Great work,” she said, and the man smiled and left the room.
Chase looked to Detective Simmons next.
“Any idea where Drake is? We can use his help right now.”
“No idea. Haven’t seen or heard from him since the last meeting.”
Chase turned to Detective Yasiv.
“You?”
He shook his head.
“Same here. I haven’t—”
A commotion from just outside the conference room cut his answer short and drew all of their attention.
“What the fuck?” Chase muttered.
There was a pretty girl in a Frozen-themed nightgown, her hands cuffed behind her, being led through 62nd precinct by none other than the man himself.
CHAPTER 36
Drake’s face ached, and a schism of pain shot up his side with every breath. And yet he thought he did a pretty good job of keeping his expression neutral.
He knew how ridiculous the scene must have looked to the other officers and detectives, but he didn’t care. After all, he had no reputation to protect, no dignity to uphold.
That had all been lost when Clay had been murdered.
Fuck, I need a drink.
Just as he passed the door to the conference room, it burst open and Chase barged into the hallway.
“Drake? Who the hell is this?”
Drake stared for a moment, his eyes scanning up and down. She was wearing an outfit reminiscent of what Clarissa Smith had been sporting the day they had told her that Thomas was dead.
And he would be damned if it didn’t look just as good as on her.
“What the hell are you wearing?” he asked, stifling a chuckle. Veronica continued to walk forward, and he grabbed her cuffs and pulled her back.
“Never mind that,” Chase snapped. She leaned in close, and Drake got the strange feeling that she was sniffing him. “What happened to your face? And who the hell is this?”
“This,” he said, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face despite the pain, “is V.”
Chase was floored.
“V?”
“Yep, Chase Adams meet Veronica… what’d you say your last name was?”
“I didn’t,” Veronica growled.
“Ah well, V is enough,” Drake said.
Realizing that Chase was still staring at him, he turned to one of the officers who had gathered around.
“Tindall, take this woman to booking, please.”
The man didn’t move.
“Detective Tindall, take this woman to booking,” Chase repeated.
Detective Tindall, a man with a long nose and painted on beard, stepped forward.
“What’s the charge?”
“Nothing for now, just want to talk,” Drake replied, handing the woman over. She hissed at him, and he winked. “Just a little chat.”
Chase leaned in close to him again.
“Get in the conference room, Drake.”
Drake nodded, then turned to the others.
“Can someone get me a nice cold steak for my eye?” When no one moved, didn’t so much as crack a smile, he added, “No? Anyone?”
Chase grabbed him by the arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and yanked him in the direction of the conference room.
“Now, Drake.”
He let himself be led and once inside, Chase turned to Detectives Yasiv and Simmons.
“Frank, Henry, I’ll let you know when I find out about the teachers. Until then, be ready.”
The two men stood and left, after offering Drake no more than a cursory glance.
“Teachers?” he asked, but was only met by silence.
When they were finally gone, Chase looked at him, her eyes blazing.
“Sit, Drake. Sit and tell me what the fuck is going on.”
~
“What was the officer’s name? The one who saved you?” Chase demanded when he was done telling his story.
Drake frowned.
“I dunno… didn’t get his name. That’s what you pick up on? After what I tell you about Raul, Weston… about finding V?”
Chase just stared at him accusingly.
“I wasn’t drinking, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
For almost a full minute, the two detectives sat in the conference room without saying a word.
Eventually, Chase spoke up.
“I believe you,” she said quickly, and then went on to describe the new photographs on the board and the meaning behind the pins and threads.
“But we’re still no closer to finding the killer,” Drake said, sounding nothing if not forlorn. “You think that this Tim Jenkins might be our guy?”
Chase shrugged.
“If he is, I expect Dunbar to have something for me in an hour or so.”
“You want to pay him a visit?”
Chase shook her head.
“No, not quite yet. Let’s find out a little more first. If he is the Butterfly Killer, we might be able to catch him by surprise.”
Drake chewed the inside of his lip.
“And if he’s not the killer? What if he’s the next victim… based on the time line the killer is going to strike again soon.”
Drake could see that his words had struck a chord with Chase, illuminating something
that she had already considered.
“You’re right—it’s too risky. We need someone on him, tailing him, staying outside his home. I’ll get Detective Gainsford on it. In the meantime, I would love to get Raul in here.”
Drake balked.
“Raul? What about Weston? Or Ken Smith? Now those are two guys that I want to talk to. They’re the ones providing the cash, paying people off. Threatening Clarissa.”
Chase opened her mouth to reply, but a knock at the conference door interrupted her.
“Yeah?” she asked.
The door opened several inches, and the man who had taken Veronica to booking peeked in.
“Sergeant Rhodes wants to see you in his office.”
“Me?” Drake asked out of habit.
“Both of you,” Tindall replied and then closed the door.
Drake turned to Chase, who shrugged.
“Let me do the talking,” she said. “They’re just looking for a reason to let you go.”
“No shit.”
CHAPTER 37
Sergeant Rhodes sat behind his desk, a scowl on his narrow face.
“Sit,” he ordered in a brisk tone, one that Drake was all too familiar with.
Both Drake and Chase did as was asked.
Rhodes sighed and leaned forward.
“What in God’s name is going on? You think this is a circus act? That you can just…” he let his sentence trail off and then pointed at Chase, “you look like you’re dressed for a damn debutante ball, and you,” he pointed at Drake next, “you look like you went a few rounds with Conor McGregor. And what’s this about some girl dressed in a Disney costume being paraded around the precinct?”
Drake looked over at Chase, but his attention was drawn back when Rhodes slammed his hands down on the desk in front of him.
“Speak goddammit!” he bellowed.
Chase cleared her throat then told of the progress they had made on the Butterfly Killer case, starting with the connection with Chris Papadopoulos in Montreal, to the fact that all three victims went to high school together. Drake expected Rhodes to be pleased, seeing as they were making progress, but as Chase recounted their findings his jowls only seemed to sag lower and lower.
“That’s it?” he said when she was done. “CSU has nothing? The ME has nothing? No leads? No suspects?”
“Well, we’re still exploring—” Chase started.
“I’ve got the media breathing down my neck,” Rhodes began, his face starting to turn red, “and the Deputy Inspector is chewing me a new asshole at least once a day. I’ve got so many orifices now that when I go to take a shit, I look like a goddamn sprinkler. And the Mayor… Christ, the Mayor is complaining that every donor with a seven-figure bank account has reached out to him, asking if they are in danger of being next by this… this Butterfly Killer.”
Drake had seen the man upset before, enraged even to the point that Clay couldn’t even calm him down, but this was different. Rhodes, despite all his bluster, seemed scared beneath it all.
And that was something new.
Drake cleared his throat.
“We need to get Kenneth and Weston Smith in here, ask them a few questions—see where the money is going. It would also be good to set up a task force. The killer’s cooling off period between murders has been—”
Rhodes’s face turned such a dark shade of red that Drake stopped, concerned for the man’s wellbeing.
“Really? Really?” the Sergeant shot back sarcastically. “I tell you that the Mayor is all over me and the media is chomping at the bit, and you tell me you want to haul two of the wealthiest lawyers and public figures in New York down here for an interview? Based on what?”
“We have—” Chase started, but was once again cut off.
“Nothing, that’s what you have,” Rhodes finished for her. “You’ve got some far-fetched theories about bribes and other nonsense. But nothing about who the actual killer is or what the fuck he wants outside of getting his jollies from offing rich bastards. Tim Jenkins, now that sounds like a lead.”
“Or maybe our next victim,” Drake offered.
Rhodes pursed his lips and waved a hand dismissively.
“We’re putting him under twenty-four-hour surveillance, see if we can catch him slip—”
“What about Raul then?” Drake asked, cutting his partner off. Chase shot him a look, the meaning of which was clear: I told you to let me do the talking.
“Who?” Rhodes asked now with an air of indifference.
“The Smith’s housekeeper. We can bring him on suspicion of solicitation… After all, I saw him heading to the prostitute’s apartment with an envelope of cash.”
Rhodes shook his head.
“No, no you didn’t. What you saw, Drake, was a man in the vicinity of the apartment with an envelope you suspect was filled with cash,” Rhodes corrected. “There is no way you’re bringing anyone involved with that family into this precinct.”
“What about bringing Raul in just to chat? I mean, informally. It’s clear that he knows a lot more than he’s letting on. Besides, he might have seen something that he might not even think is related to the case,” Chase asked, taking over for Drake.
Sergeant Rhodes sighed and removed his spectacles before rubbing the red indentations on the sides of his nose with index finger and thumb. He set his glasses down on the desk and leveled his eyes at Chase.
“Fine. But I want it to be discrete, you got that? And no one is to go near any member of the Smith family. Clear?”
Chase nodded.
“Got it.”
“And get someone on this Tim Jenkins right away; the last thing we need is another murder on our hands. And Chase, get the media off my back. Set up a conference for tomorrow morning.”
Chase screwed up her face.
“To tell them what?”
Rhodes threw up his hands.
“I don’t know, just get them off my back! And if you wear that outfit for the conference, I don’t care what HR says, you’re done. Now both of you get the hell out of my office!”
CHAPTER 38
An hour later, Drake found himself back in the conference room, his eyes fading in and out of focus as he stared at the photographs on the board.
Chase had done a good job piecing things together, but he couldn’t help but think that there was something that they were missing, something big. Something that might break this case.
Three victims, one of whom lived in a different country, two who had just rekindled a two-decade stale friendship, a hooker, an impish housekeeper with envelopes of cash and a fucking butterfly of all things…
Drake was reminded of a similar board that Clay had set up when they were trying to catch the Skeleton King. Only then it had been seven murders, not three, and the victims were castaways rather than New York’s most affluent.
Still, there was something similar about them. For one, the Skeleton Killer had a specific MO, as did the Butterfly Killer.
The door to the conference opened and Drake turned to see Chase enter. She was wearing a dark skirt and a cream-colored blouse buttoned nearly to her throat.
“I thought I might find you in here. Did you go interview Veronica yet?”
Drake shook his head.
“No; I’m letting her stew. I told Frank that when he picks up Raul to make sure he sneaks him in through the back way, but to make sure that Veronica sees him. She was pretty tight-lipped back in her apartment; maybe seeing Raul might loosen them up. I considered asking Frank to cuff Raul once he was inside the station, but if Rhodes found out, he’d take a sprinkler shit.”
Chase smirked, and he could see in her eye that she thought bringing Raul in and parading him for Veronica might help her remember Thomas Smith.
“Detective Gainsford is stationed outside Tim Jenkins’s house on explicit orders not to interact with him if spotted. I said that we would relieve him tonight at ten.”
Drake raised an eyebrow, but resisted commenting. Watching
a man’s house was a one-person job. This felt suspiciously like she wanted babysitting him. And it also meant that it wasn’t likely that he would be getting any “Key lime” pie tonight.
Or Johnny Red.
“What are we going to do in the meantime? I’m going blind staring at this board here.”
Chase smiled.
“What? What is it?” Drake asked.
She threw a pile of papers on the desk and they slid over to Drake. He caught them before they fell to the floor.
“My guy in records came through: Thomas’s juvi records. And they are worse than we thought. Much worse.”
Drake grabbed the papers and started reading.
“No kidding,” he said.
The first line read Thomas Alexander Smith - Juvenile Criminal Record. What followed was several pages of lists of offenses and the penalties.
“Three pages?” he asked with surprise.
Chase nodded eagerly.
“Go on, have a read—it gets better.”
Drake turned his attention to first page again.
The first crime listed was Grand Theft Auto.
Drake whistled.
“Wow. Really? This is no kid forgetting to pay for a candy bar.”
“Nope,” Chase replied with an air of smugness. “Keep going.”
Three years in juvenile detention, reduced to six months, released after one month for good behavior.
Thomas was only fourteen at the time.
His eyes drifted to the next indictment.
Theft under $1000; three months’ probation, $10,000 dollar fine, 40 hours of community service.
The third crime was Assault in the Third Degree, for which Thomas paid another hefty fine and was given one hundred hours of community service.
Drake looked up and rubbed his eyes. Squinting at the plain black text was making him a little nauseous.
“Yep,” Chase said before Drake even asked a question. “They’re all like that. Hefty fine, community service. Looks like Daddy had to shell out some cash to keep our angel Thomas Alexander Smith out of prison.”
Drake tapped the corner of the page.
“Why didn’t any of this come up in our background search? Juvi records are sealed, but there must have been something about this in a newspaper article, no? I mean, they can’t publish his name, but there are other ways of subtly hinting at it, which would be of interest, especially given Ken Smith’s prominence in the community.”
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