by Mary Stone
She nodded. “I know you will.”
“Any news yet?” Chief Johnson interrupted them, his expression as grim as Ellie had ever seen it. “Ellie, how are you holding up?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m still in shock that he’s gone.”
Gone. What a useless euphemism.
“I can imagine. You’re not alone, either. It’s been a shocking morning for all of us.” The chief patted her on the shoulder in an awkward attempt at comfort. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider what we talked about in my office yesterday? If anything, this makes a stronger case for you to take some time off.”
Ellie bit her lip as the pain spiraled into her chest like a drill. When they’d met in the chief’s office yesterday, they’d formed a trio, not a duo. Fortis had faced Chief Johnson across the desk and gone to bat for Ellie by defending her choice to work through the grief of Val’s murder.
Now less than twenty-four hours later, he was dead too. Wiped from the earth by pure, unadulterated evil.
“I haven’t changed my mind since yesterday. When we talked about it with Detective F-Fortis.” Ellie squeezed her arms as fresh sorrow washed over her. “If anything, I’m more determined than ever to keep working.”
“I understand.” The chief rubbed his jaw. “But maybe—”
“In fact, after this, I’d like to dedicate all of my working hours to Kingsley’s cases.”
Valdez cleared his throat. “I think this is my cue to leave before I offer unsolicited advice.”
“Right, sorry. Ellie, walk with me back to the office.” Chief Johnson gestured toward the exit, and Ellie fell into step beside him, putting his muscular frame between her and an unobstructed view of the crime scene.
When they rounded the corner, Ellie’s shoulders eased a little. “So?”
The chief shook his head. “I don’t think clearing your schedule to only work Kingsley cases is a very good idea. What about your cold cases? You still have crimes to solve, missing children to find.”
Guilt pinged in Ellie’s gut, but she lifted her chin. The missing children had disappeared over a decade ago. The world wouldn’t catch fire if the files sat on her desk for another few months. “The only cold case I can focus on right now is the one involving the girl Kingsley pitted me against when he held me prisoner in that warehouse.”
They continued walking and were steps away from the precinct’s front door before the chief replied. “As much as I’d like to deny you that case for your own safety, I feel like it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. So go ahead, work that case if you must. But Ellie?”
He paused on the sidewalk a few yards short of the door, so Ellie stopped too. “Yes?”
His forehead creased. “Please, be careful. We’ve lost too much to this monster already. I will not accept losing you too. Do you copy?”
Ellie managed a wobbly smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
The chief nodded, and they both started walking again.
“Detective Kline, hold up!”
Shoes pounded the pavement behind them, and they turned in unison as a skinny man in a white lab coat barreled down the sidewalk.
He staggered to a stop and doubled over, gasping for air. When he’d recovered enough to straighten, his forehead and neck glistened with sweat, and his entire face was red. “Sorry…haven’t been to the gym since before Thanksgiving. This…was in the car…for you. Passenger…seat.”
The forensics tech extended the manila file that had been secured in a plastic evidence bag to Ellie, but Chief Johnson swooped in first, blocking her.
Ellie held out her hand. “Please, I think it’s safe for me to look. I highly doubt there’s an explosive masquerading as a piece of paper.”
Chief Johnson arched a brow at her outstretched palm until she sighed and crossed her arms. “Fine. I’ll wait until you’ve decided that a folder isn’t a threat.”
As if she had a choice.
Ellie sank back on her heels as the chief pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Once he’d slipped them on, Chief Johnson took the file from the tech and began inspecting the exterior folder.
They found her name on the side, in large, bold letters:
Kline, Ellie
Dread crawled across Ellie’s neck. Both that format and font were familiar.
Chief Johnson’s lips thinned into a flat line as he arrived at the same conclusion. “This looks like your cold case file from thirteen years ago.”
Ellie agreed, and her stomach soured. Could that really be her cold case file, and if so, how? How had Kingsley gotten his hands on it, and why return the thing now?
Chief Johnson turned to the waiting tech. “I’ll need an evidence kit. Bring one to me down in the lab.”
Cheeks still flushed, the skinny tech nodded and scurried off, and the chief focused on Ellie. “I’ll have the CSI team take pictures of each item and send them to you.”
11
With her mind spinning at a million miles per minute, Ellie paced the lobby floor clutching the folder of photocopies to her chest, ignoring the curious glances thrown her way by the desk clerk and passing patrol officers.
The door whooshed open, and Jillian Reed, Ellie’s best friend and sometimes roommate, rushed over and threw her arms around Ellie without a trace of self-consciousness. “Are you okay? I can’t believe this is happening.”
Ellie closed her eyes and squeezed her friend hard before pulling away. “None of this is okay.”
Jillian’s blue eyes were rimmed in pink, and blonde strands escaped her usual neat ponytail. “I know. Poor Detective Fortis. It’s not right. How many more lives is that asshole going to destroy before the end?”
That question had been haunting Ellie for months. “None, if I can help it. I need you to let me into the file room.”
Jillian nodded. “I was headed there now. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
On their way to the basement where Jillian worked as the evidence desk clerk, Ellie explained about the file that Kingsley had left for her.
Jillian paused in the stairwell, her eyes round. “Oh my god, he left that for you? In Detective Fortis’s car?”
“Apparently.”
Ellie had already hit her quota for concerned looks from coworkers today, so she continued down the stairs. Outside the door, the hallway that led to the evidence room was darker than the rest of the building and held a faint musty odor, like maybe once upon a time, a leak had never been fixed properly, and the damp air allowed mold to flourish.
The touchpad beeped as Jillian typed in the code, then the lock clicked open. Ellie dumped the copies that Chief Johnson had sent to her office on Jillian’s desk before bypassing the current case evidence and heading straight for the back room, where the older cold cases were stored.
Ellie shivered as they perused the white evidence boxes stacked on the shelves. The temperature down here was always chillier than everywhere else, and the frigid air bit through her blazer and thin top.
“Here it is!”
Jillian pushed onto her tiptoes to grab a box off the top shelf labeled Kline, Ellie. “I have no idea how Kingsley could have gotten his hands on the information in here. Unless…do you think there’s another mole in our office?”
Ellie tagged behind as Jillian carried the box to her desk. “I don’t know, but I promise to ask him once I drag him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in.”
Jillian set the box down near the folder of photocopies and pulled out a chair. “All right, here we go. You ready?”
Ellie sank into a second chair. “Let’s do it.” While she opened the folder to the copies of papers Kingsley had left for her, her friend removed the lid from the box and fished Ellie’s original report out.
Once the first pages were arranged side by side, Ellie began scanning, starting with the legitimate report in front of Jillian. The inconsistencies between the two popped out before she reached the second half.
Ellie wr
inkled her brow. “Ready for the next page?”
“Yeah.” Jillian was frowning too, but they continued their inspection, waiting until they were both finished with a page before flipping to the next.
About halfway through, Jillian expelled a breath. “Well, at least we know that the file Kingsley left you wasn’t copied verbatim. There are parts that sound like something out of a bad movie script.”
Ellie nodded. “Right? This definitely wasn’t written by anyone in law enforcement.”
“I don’t get it. What was the point of creating such an obviously fake file, much less risk leaving it at a crime scene for you to find?”
While she’d examined the last few pages, Ellie had racked her brain over that very same question. “I honestly have no idea on either count, and that worries me.”
Surprises and Kingsley never mixed well.
Jillian shoved the file aside and shifted sideways in the chair to face Ellie. “On a scale of one to ten, with one being floating away in a state of pure bliss and ten being hurling yourself naked and screaming into the abyss, how are you doing?”
Despite the awful morning so far, Ellie’s lips twitched. “Just for my own personal reference, what happens at level nine? Hurling myself screaming into the abyss, but I’m fully clothed?”
“Obviously. Now, quit stalling and answer.”
“Okay. But for the record, I have more questions about this rating scale.” Ellie’s amusement faded. “I’d say I’m at a six. But that score will improve once we find Bethany. And improve even more when we haul Kingsley’s ass in.”
“But for the most part, you’re okay?”
“I will be, just as soon as everyone stops asking me that question.” Ellie was half-joking when she said it, but Jillian reached over and gave her another hug before burying her head back over the file.
Ellie pushed the folder away and stared up at the ceiling, wishing she understood what Kingsley was playing at this time. Because without a doubt, that was exactly why he’d left the file on Fortis’s passenger seat. The doctor loved nothing better than to force unwilling participants to take part in his macabre mind games.
One thing was almost certain, though. The clues to solving this latest riddle were hidden inside the phony file.
Ellie cracked her neck before scooting forward and getting back to work, starting from page one and scrutinizing every line.
The beginning was pretty cut and dried. Names, locations, dates. Nothing much jumped out at her until she flipped to page two. “Hey, check this out.”
Jillian craned her neck to inspect the line above Ellie’s finger. “All I see is an address. What am I missing?”
“That’s not my home address.”
Jillian peered closer and frowned. “It’s not an old one either?”
Ellie shook her head. “No. I’ve never lived there. I don’t even know where that is.”
The laptop squeaked when Jillian dragged it across the desk. “Let’s fix that right now.” Her fingers clicked on the keys as she typed the address into the search engine.
A list of entries popped up. Ellie zeroed in on the first few and discovered that the address belonged to Far Ridge Boy’s Academy.
As she read, her pulse picked up.
Not just any boy’s academy, but one with a sordid past.
The top hits were all articles with salacious headlines.
Three Boys Dead Under Mysterious Circumstances at Exclusive Boarding School
Headmaster Gives No Explanation for Student Deaths at Far Ridge Boy’s Academy
Students Locked Out of Rich Prep School Overnight Die of Exposure
“Yikes,” Jillian murmured.
“Can you open that fourth one?” Ellie pointed to the entry she wanted, and Jillian slid the mouse and clicked. The page opened to the About Me section of a blog. The author bio beneath the banner claimed the blog owner was a former student and survivor of the Far Ridge Boy’s Academy.
Ellie’s pulse kicked up as she read on. Beneath the bio was a section titled “Support My Work,” which contained brief descriptions and links to a podcast and book. Based on the list of awards next to both the podcast and book, Nickolas “Hank” Crawford was well-regarded in the field of true crime.
“We need to talk to this guy, see what, if anything, he knows. Can you pull up the contact info?”
Jillian clicked on the heading. “You think he’s linked to Kingsley somehow?”
“He has to be. Why else leave me this Easter egg hunt?”
“With Kingsley, who knows? Didn’t he send you on a wild goose chase once already, when he had someone pretend to be the long-lost daughter from one of your cold cases?”
Beyond her screaming gut, Ellie couldn’t explain how she knew this time was different, so she didn’t waste time trying. “Yes, but that tip did lead me to solve another case.”
“After sending you to a meth trailer that could have exploded if you’d sneezed wrong.”
Ellie bristled at the memory. “The bomb squad went in first, so I was okay on that front. Dying from inhaling toxic fumes was the real concern.”
Jillian jabbed Ellie’s ribs with her elbow. “Gee, I feel so much better now that you’ve cleared that up.”
After a brief lull, the page pulled up. Ellie frowned at the contents. “An email address, that’s it?”
“Sure looks that way.”
Grumbling under her breath, Ellie tugged the laptop closer, copied the address into her email account, and began typing up a message.
“Do you really think this Hank guy will be able to help? He clearly has his own trauma issues to work out.”
“All I know is that Kingsley directed us this way for a reason. If this Hank Crawford knew him, or if Kingsley had something to do with that boy’s academy, then questioning him can only help. Maybe they were old school buddies or something, and he’s aware of one of Kingsley’s hidey holes. I feel like the fastest way to find him is by talking to the people who knew him best.”
Ellie finished composing the message and hit send before glancing up and catching Jillian’s pointed look. “What?”
“I was just thinking…if that’s the case, then shouldn’t you head out to the psych hospital? Because I’m pretty sure there’s a patient there who knows Kingsley better than anyone.”
12
Katarina stared at the visitor who stood at the foot of her hospital bed in stony silence, amazed once more by how different she and the redheaded detective from the Charleston Police Department were. As far as Katarina could tell, the only significant trait she shared with Ellie Kline was the fact that both of them were members of the very exclusive Kingsley Survivor Club.
As for the rest, well…that was still up in the air. Until recently, Katarina had been certain she’d gotten the better end of the stick. Her upbringing, while unconventional, had granted Katarina the type of freedom that few children experienced. It lacked the stifling rules and restraints Ellie had grown up with. Rules that would have driven Katarina bananas.
Her lips curved in a humorless smile when she went to scratch her nose but was stopped short by thick straps on her wrists. Then again, who knew? Maybe she was predestined to end up in a straitjacket whether she’d been raised in a mansion or a meth house.
“Something funny you want to share?” Ellie stepped to the side of the bed, causing the fluorescent lights overhead to reflect off the badge pinned to her hip. The metal shimmered like fourteen karat gold, an image that forced a sigh from Katarina’s lungs.
Whatever she’d believed before, the truth now was clear.
The winner of their unofficial competition was the woman who could come and go from the hospital as she pleased, and who didn’t have to hit a call button to use the toilet. “Not really.”
Other than flaring her nostrils, Ellie ignored Katarina’s rude response. She stood as stiff as a wooden doll by the foot rail, with her hands fisted by her sides.
Katarina narrowed her eyes. Thanks to her
unorthodox upbringing, studying surroundings and people was second nature. Their previous encounters revealed that Detective Kline practically simmered with hyperkinetic energy. One of those loud, bubbly types who found it near impossible to sit still.
Not on this visit. The other woman’s spine was rigid, and the fire in her green eyes had been replaced by ice.
Something had happened since the last time they’d met. A big enough event to take a drastic toll on the detective.
Katarina jerked her chin to gesture at the empty chair. “Quit gaping at me like an awkward carrot and sit down already. All that hovering is giving me the willies.”
That prompted a snort as the detective folded her long legs and sat. “I didn’t realize carrots could be awkward. Or that Katarina Volkov ever said ‘willies.’”
Katarina shifted her hips in a futile attempt to get comfortable. She’d never admit the truth out loud, but now that she was in the psych ward, she kind of missed the air mattress. The thing had been noisy as hell, but at least she didn’t wake up feeling like she’d slept on a sack of bricks. “Why are you here?”
“I was hoping you might have some idea of where Kingsley is hiding.”
Katarina barked an irritated laugh and rattled her arms. “Do you really think I’d still be chained to this stupid bed if I had any clue at all where my daughter was?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You don’t really strike me as your average, run-of-the-mill mother.”
The detective delivered the remark in a teasing tone, but the barb sank its hooks into Katarina’s chest anyway. A sharp reminder that all her efforts to keep Bethany safe had failed. Her daughter had fallen into the hands of the one man she’d vowed to protect her from, and the knowledge all but split her chest in two.
“Yeah? Well, at least I am a mother. Speaking of, how is the lovely Mrs. Kline doing? Has she accepted the reality yet that her only daughter can’t seem to hold down a boyfriend to save her life?”