Edge of Darkness

by Karen Rose

  Adam blinked. “How did Troy . . . ?”

  “He called on his way to the ER,” Isenberg said. “Gave me his statement. Mr. and Mrs. Davis, we need Shane to listen to a recording for us. I’ll have my clerk show you to a quiet room and get you some coffee while we do that. Okay?” She waited until the Davises had led Kyle away before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Shane, you okay with this?”

  Shane nodded. “Yes, ma’am, but can I get it over with? Please?”

  Isenberg nodded. “Of course. Come on. Agent Novak has it all cued up.”

  Shane tugged Meredith’s sleeve. “Please?” he murmured.

  Meredith threw another look over her shoulder at Adam. “He’d like me to sit with him while you play the 911 call.”

  Adam motioned her forward. “Not a problem.”

  Isenberg’s briefing room was already half-filled. Deacon and Scarlett sat with Detective Hanson and a fiftyish man Meredith didn’t recognize. Adam knew him, though, and approached, hand outstretched.

  “Nash,” he said with a genuine smile. “It’s been a while.”

  The man stood, returning the smile and pumping Adam’s hand enthusiastically. “Too long. I’m temporarily on your team, working with Hanson. I’m in Narcotics now, too. Have been for a few months.”

  Something flickered across Adam’s face as he glanced over at Hanson. Regret, maybe? Or guilt? But it was gone too quickly for Meredith to be certain, his smile back in place. “Like old home week, then. Good to have you on board.” He turned to Meredith. “This is Detective Nash Currie, one of the cybercrimes experts. He, Hanson, and I worked together in Personal Crimes. This is Dr. Fallon.”

  She inclined her head to the new guy, remembering that Adam had mentioned him when telling his story. Currie and Hanson had been standing with him, had watched helplessly along with him as Paula was murdered. “It’s nice to meet you, Detective Currie. Please excuse us if we’re a little ragged. We’ve had an eventful afternoon.”

  Currie nodded sympathetically. “So I’ve heard. I’m glad you’re all okay.”

  Adam gestured to Shane. “This is Shane Baird. Shane, Detectives Hanson and Currie are also working this case.”

  Shane only nodded.

  “I’ve got it all cued up,” Deacon said. “I’m Agent Novak, this is Detective Bishop. We work for Lieutenant Isenberg, along with Detective Kimble. We were out looking for your friend Linnie. Here, have a seat.”

  Shane sat and Meredith sat next to him, Adam moving to stand behind her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body, but not close enough to touch. Which was ideal, because her job for the next few minutes was to give Shane strength, not to pay attention to the big, beautiful man behind her. And then she realized that by positioning himself as he had, Adam was quietly offering his strength to her. It was sweet.

  “You didn’t find her.” Shane searched Deacon’s and Scarlett’s faces. “What did you find, besides the 911 call?”

  “She’s not a student at any of the colleges in town,” Scarlett said. She was crisp and professional and that seemed to help Shane, because he nodded, assuming Scarlett’s posture. “Andy had told people at his work that she was.”

  “She wanted to be a teacher, but that was a long time ago.” Shane looked down at the table for a few beats, then back up. “What else?”

  Scarlett held his gaze levelly. “We found a few people who thought they knew her, but only when we showed them the more recent picture.”

  Shane visibly steeled himself. “Which picture?”

  Deacon told him about the 911 call and the still they were able to get from the surveillance photo in the parking lot of the restaurant. “If this is Linnie, she doesn’t look like the same girl you knew. Just know that, okay?”

  Deacon slid the photo across the table and Shane gasped.

  “Oh my God. Linnie?” He shuddered, his words thick with tears.

  Meredith laid her hand on his back, felt him trembling. “Is it her, Shane?”

  “I . . .” He choked, then turned to look at Meredith, devastation in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s her. I know her eyes. But . . . My God. She’s like a skeleton.”

  Deacon reached across the table to put the older photo Shane had provided next to the one that had him so distressed. “Her eyes don’t look that similar,” Deacon said gently. “Are you sure?”

  Shane jerked a nod. “That’s because in this picture”—angry now, he poked at the older photo of a laughing, happy Linnie—“she hadn’t been raped yet. These eyes?” He picked up the newer photo and it shook in his hands. “Yeah. This is what we saw afterward. Me and Andy. God. It killed him to see her like that.”

  Meredith kept a steady pressure on his back. “Okay,” she murmured. “But she’s alive, Shane. Don’t lose that fact, okay?”

  He nodded and put the photo down with a precision that broke Meredith’s heart. He was trying so hard not to fall apart. “Can I listen—” He cut himself off, his gaze darting back to Scarlett. “Wait. Who knew her like this?” he demanded. “How did they know her if she wasn’t a student?”

  Scarlett met Shane’s eyes directly once again. “This is hearsay only, but we found four men who said they ‘had friends’ who’d hired this woman for sexual services.”

  Shane’s mouth fell open. “Prostitution? You’re saying Linnie is a prostitute?”

  For a moment no one said a word, then Detective Hanson spoke. “That’s why we’re here, Mr. Baird. We got a tip about a prostitution ring operating on the college campus. We’ve got a few names and we’re tracking down leads. Including this young woman.”

  Shane covered his hand with his mouth and shook his head. “She promised. We made a pact, her and Andy and me. No drugs and no . . . selling ourselves. We promised each other.” He blinked and tears streaked down his face. “This is why she called anonymously. She doesn’t want to be arrested.”

  This was most probably true. “Shane,” Meredith said quietly, but firmly. “She is alive. That’s the most important thing. Andy was afraid that whoever was forcing him to point that gun at me yesterday would kill her, but she’s alive. We work from there, okay?”

  He nodded, then squared his shoulders. “Can you play the 911 call now?”

  Deacon tapped the keyboard of his computer and a raspy whisper came from the speaker. “Just . . . tell them that the SUV used in the shooting can be found at Clyde’s Place at 275 and Beechmont.” The clip abruptly ended. “Well?” Deacon asked.

  Shane’s head dipped low. “Yeah. That’s her.”

  “You seem certain,” Adam said from behind them.

  Shane twisted in his chair to look up at Adam. “I am. She, um, had nightmares after . . . you know. Back in the foster house. She screamed a lot. That’s how she sounded after. She had that raspy edge. It’s like the bastard who hurt her even broke her voice.” He slumped in his chair. “If you find her, will the fact that she made this call help her?”

  “We don’t know,” Scarlett said. “But it can’t hurt.”

  “But you’ll keep looking for her?” Shane asked, sounding so young and lost.

  “Yes,” Adam assured him. “If she was in that SUV, she can probably tell us who shot Andy. Besides, we think she may have been injured. She may need medical help.”

  Shane went still, his eyes narrowing. He twisted again to stare up at Adam. “Why? Why do you think that?” He pivoted, glaring at Deacon and Scarlett. “What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

  “She left a lot of blood in the SUV,” Deacon said simply and Shane frowned.

  “And? You can’t know it’s hers. Even if you could test the DNA that fast, you couldn’t prove it was hers because you don’t have anything to compare it to. Do you?”

  Scarlett’s black brows arched and Deacon’s head tilted in that way he had when he was puzzling something out. Shane hu
ffed an impatient breath and waved his hand. “Kyle’s prelaw. We watch a lot of crime movies. Just answer the question.”

  Meredith gave both Deacon and Scarlett an imploring look on Shane’s behalf. “If you can’t answer, he needs to understand why you can’t. You owe him that much.”

  Deacon sighed. “We didn’t find the blood or the SUV. But she told us she bled in the car when she made the 911 call. Told us to be careful.” He leaned closer, resting his forearm on the table. “She told us that she was HIV positive, which is not the death sentence it used to be.” He added the final phrase because Shane had thrown himself back in his chair, stunned and growing so pale that Meredith worried he’d pass out.

  “Bullshit!” Shane shouted, pointing at the recent photo. “Look at her. She’s sick. Oh my God.” He broke then, choking on a sob. “What happened to them? Andy and Linnie? I shouldn’t have left them. I never should have left them.”

  “You don’t know what her condition is or why she’s so thin,” Deacon said calmly. “Let’s find her and then you’ll know more.”

  Shane nodded unsteadily. “Okay. Am I done?”

  “Yes,” Isenberg told him. “Thank you, Mr. Baird. You can go join the Davises now.” She turned to Meredith. “Dr. Fallon,” she added, not impolitely, but it was clear that Meredith needed to leave as well.

  She was okay with that. She needed to go crash somewhere and let herself have a minor meltdown. But first, I needed to pop some ibuprofen for this headache. Maybe find a bag of ice. She started to rise, then smiled inside when Adam offered her a hand. She allowed him to help her up, then gave a shaky laugh. “Thanks. I’m still a little wobbly from our adventure,” she said lightly, noting that he was studying her carefully. “But I’m okay.”

  “At least you’ve got color in your face again.” He glanced at Shane, who was shuffling toward the door. “But he doesn’t,” he added in a worried whisper.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.” Meredith followed Shane, but paused at the door when she remembered the reason she’d been coming downtown to begin with. “Do we know when Mrs. Voss is coming in? Agent Troy said he’d talk to her and set it up.”

  “She got here a few minutes ago,” Isenberg said. “I had her and her daughter escorted to one of the interview rooms. If you can wait for us by my office, please?”

  “Of course. Come on, Shane. Let’s find the Davises.”

  She found Kyle and his parents in one of the smaller meeting rooms and dropped Shane off with them, then went in search of her grandfather. She spied him standing at one of the windows, a sad, pensive look on his face. She’d seen that look before, always when he thought no one was watching. And most always at this time of year.

  For all his bluster, Clarke Fallon carried holes in his soul. But no one would ever know unless they caught him like this. Unaware.

  I learned to wear a mask at the feet of a master, she thought. She’d started toward him when the elevator behind her dinged. Startled, she turned, and because the elevator opened directly into the bullpen, she didn’t have to wait to see who it was.

  “Meredith!” Dani Novak rushed out of the elevator, a small box in one hand and a green garbage bag in the other.

  Meredith met her halfway. “Dani? What’s wrong?” Because clearly something was.

  “I need either Adam or Deacon. Now.”

  “I’ll take you.” Meredith led her to Isenberg’s briefing room. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. This is case related.” Dani stopped suddenly and stared at Meredith. “Your case, actually. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in a safe house.”

  “Well, things are a little upside down right now,” Meredith said wryly. “I’ll explain later. What do you have?”

  Dani sighed. “Evidence.”

  Meredith pointed to the door. “They’re in there. Isenberg, Scarlett, Adam, Deacon, and two detectives from Narcotics. I’m not supposed to be in there, so I’ll just wait for the scoop when you’re done.”

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Sunday, December 20, 4:50 p.m.

  Adam stood back and stared at the whiteboard where he’d taped photos of all the victims, the near victims—his gut had twisted as he’d taped Meredith’s photo to the board—and the suspects to date, which had to include Linnie Holmes until they knew differently.

  Kiesler University’s campus PD had sent them both a still and a copy of the surveillance video showing the huge thug of a man who’d asked for Shane last night. This photo was placed squarely in the suspects column.

  “His face . . . He looks off,” Adam said thoughtfully as he studied the photo. “More than the broken nose. He’s trying to smile in this picture so that Kyle will tell him where to find Shane, but his face doesn’t move.”

  “It’s his cheeks,” Isenberg said. “They don’t move, nor do they match his face. His nose is red from the cold, but his cheeks aren’t.”

  “Prosthetics,” Nash said. “Gonna make it hard to get an ID out of facial recognition software.” And if anyone would know, it would be Nash Currie. He was what Diesel would have been if he’d joined the police force instead of working at the Ledger.

  “You’ll still try?” Hanson asked and Nash nodded.

  “Of course. The girl will be difficult, too, unless she’s looked that sick for a long time. Although I can’t imagine anyone surviving for long looking that sick.”

  “What about the license plates Candace Voss photographed the night of the party?” Adam asked, getting the discussion back on track. He taped those three photos on the whiteboard.

  “I ran them,” Hanson said. “They’re registered to Jolee Cusack, Sylvia Hyland, and Theresa Romer. The last two names are deceased, but someone has been paying to keep the registrations active.”

  Isenberg huffed. “Naturally. But to be expected if they’re using the cars in a crime.”

  “Which car was the one driven by the pink-haired girl that Candace Voss followed back to the university parking lot?” Adam asked.

  “That car was registered to Jolee Cusack.” Hanson held up a piece of paper, printed with a Facebook page. “Jolee is, according to her Facebook page, very much alive. She’s a grad student. She rents an apartment about a block off campus. According to her Facebook and Instagram posts, she turned in her final paper and is skiing in Vermont. I sent a request to the local PD to check resorts and hotels. Her neighbors here say she keeps to herself. They hardly ever see her. Nobody can remember seeing her in the last three days.”

  Adam studied the Facebook picture. “No pink hair. So even though she was driving Jolee’s car back from Voss’s party the night Candace followed her, Jolee was probably not the woman that Penny Voss saw or that Candace spoke to.”

  “Could be a pink rinse,” Scarlett said. “Or a wig. She might use it when she’s hooking. Just because she doesn’t have pink hair in these photos doesn’t mean she’s not the woman who Penny saw that night.”

  Deacon narrowed his eyes at the printout. “Let me see it a sec.” He put it on the table, side by side with the photo from the restaurant’s surveillance video—the woman who’d accompanied the man when he’d picked up the SUV. “Look at the eyes.”

  It was the only thing they could look at, because the woman’s face was almost completely covered by a scarf. Only her eyes were visible. But the eyes were damn similar.

  “Could be her,” Adam said.

  “And if it is, it means she was not skiing in Vermont as of yesterday.” Scarlett bumped Deacon’s shoulder with her own. “Good eye, D.”

  Deacon shrugged off the compliment. “Now we just have to find her.”

  “I’ve put out a BOLO for her vehicle,” Hanson said. “Her apartment was unoccupied and her luggage was gone.” He shook his head in disgust. “Her Facebook location says she’s in Vermont. Can’t believe I fell for that.”

 
“She doesn’t want to be found,” Adam said. “But now I’m wondering at the connection between this woman and Linnie.” He tapped the photo provided by Kiesler University. “Bruiser took Jolee with him when he went to pick up the SUV. Linnie didn’t know he had picked it up already, because she called to tell us where to find it.”

  “How did Linnie get the SUV to Clyde’s Place?” Deacon asked. “She pulls into the parking lot alone. Andy was afraid whoever had coerced him would hurt Linnie, so it’s unlikely she would have been handed the keys and allowed to drive away.”

  “She got away somehow,” Scarlett mused. “Good on her. Bruiser and Jolee don’t drive up to the restaurant’s lot. They walk. Bruiser cleans up the SUV’s driver’s seat while Jolee walks away. We need to find her on area surveillance footage. I assume they parked whatever vehicle they used to get there somewhere else and that Jolee drove it back. I assume her car isn’t in the campus lot anymore?”

  “No,” Hanson said. “And it wasn’t in front of her apartment, either. It could be parked somewhere off campus. I requested some uniforms to canvass the lots to find the car, but we should add more officers to the search. The campus cops can help.”

  Scarlett leaned forward, looking around Deacon to see Nash. “Have you accessed data from the license plate readers? I mean, they’re all over town.”

  Little cameras that did nothing except capture the images of cars that drove by and store them in databases. Which was great for law enforcement, but always left Adam feeling a little strange as a private citizen.

  “We have,” Nash said. “But not in the Beechmont area. That’s where you were going next, right? You want us to see if Jolee drove Bruiser in her own vehicle yesterday.”

  Scarlett nodded. “And if she did that yesterday and is on the slopes in Vermont today? She had to either drive all night or fly out first thing this morning.”

  “So we check Beechmont, I-71 north, and the area around the airport.” Nash wrote it down in his notebook. “We can do that.”

  “Thanks,” Adam said, going back to stare at the photos on the board. “So according to some of the men on campus, Linnie is a working girl, and according to Mrs. Voss, at least Jolee’s car was at Broderick Voss’s house the night Candace followed it back to campus, even if Jolee herself wasn’t there. Bruiser trusts Jolee enough to take her with him to get the SUV used in a murder hours before. So let’s assume Jolee and Linnie work in the same ring. And that Bruiser is also involved. Maybe even the guy who pulled the trigger on Andy.”