“Of course. Please leave your card, and I’ll call if I think of anything.”
As Rosen was taking out a card, Giovanni scanned the steps leading upstairs. Dirty shoeprints came in from outside, the backdoor in the kitchen, and headed upstairs.
“Does anyone else live here?” Giovanni asked.
Ms. Archer looked surprised—maybe because he hadn’t spoken the entire time. “No. It’s just me now. My husband left us when Nathan was a child. When he was gone, it was just me and Nathan.”
Giovanni nodded, a gnawing sensation in his gut, and he realized he felt bad for Melissa Archer. That her son would put her through what he put her through, not to mention the mothers of the victims he took from the world.
Rosen stood up, and Giovanni followed. They said goodbyes and thanked Ms. Archer for her time. As they walked to their car, Giovanni glanced back at the old house and saw her watching them through the shutters of a window.
“We done for the day?” Giovanni said. “I got some paperwork back at the office.”
“Almost. One more stop.”
“Where?”
Rosen took out his cell phone. He dialed a number he had saved in his contacts and said, “Yeah, Steve, this is Arnold. I need a skip-trace done on a Sarah King. I don’t have a middle name or birthday, but she’d be twenty-one or twenty-two now. From Lancaster County… Yup. Thanks.”
“Seriously?” Giovanni said.
Rosen sat on the hood of the car and looked down the street to where a few children were playing. His eyes fixed on them a moment, and he began to grin.
“You have any kids?” he asked.
“No, not married,” Giovanni said.
“Best and worst thing in life. I have a son. I don’t know where he is. Last I heard he was bartending in Las Vegas.”
Giovanni joined him on the hood. “You don’t talk?”
“No. He… forgot to call me on Father’s Day last year. He said it was ’cause he just forgot, but that’s not why. He’s got a drug addiction. Heroin. Me and his mother saw it early. We tried everything—every program, every method, tough love, no love, over-loving… nothing did it. The drug won in the end.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He exhaled through his nose. “Try and explain drug addiction logically to me, Giovanni. People willingly destroy themselves and everyone around them. It’s inexplicable. There are just some things you can’t explain.”
“I don’t believe that. Everything has a cause. An explanation.”
“When I was ten years old, and this dates me, but when I was ten, my brother and I shared a bunk bed. On July third of 1971—and I remember that date because it was the day before Independence Day and we were supposed to drive to Lake Mead for that. But I woke up on July third, and I saw my brother asleep in his bed. I went and peed in the bathroom we shared, and I came back out, and he was sitting straight up in bed, as white as a ghost. And all he said to me was, ‘Jim Morrison’s dead.’ We were huge fans of The Doors back then. There wasn’t a radio or TV in our room. There’s no way he could have known that. It didn’t even hit the States until later that day. News didn’t travel as fast as it does now.”
“How’d he know?”
“He said he saw it in a dream. Jim Morrison lying in a cold bath, his heart not beating. That memory has stuck with him his entire life. It changed his life, actually. There were things he could never believe in that he started believing in because of that.” He looked Giovanni in the eyes. “You may not have had a moment like that yet, but I think the universe has a lot of mysteries we don’t know about. And if there’s a chance this girl can help us save some lives, why wouldn’t we do it?”
Giovanni didn’t really have anything to say to that. Instead, he kept his eyes forward, on the children playing. After a few moments, Rosen hopped off the hood and got into the driver’s seat. Before Giovanni got in, he looked over the Archer’s home one last time. She wasn’t at the window anymore, and the shutters were closed again.
10
The tires screeched as Sarah slammed on her brakes. The hospital parking lot was full, so she just stopped at the curb and hopped out. A valet there gave her a ticket, and she handed him the keys and rushed inside.
The hospital was like all hospitals and made her uncomfortable. Lots of people died in hospitals, and if she didn’t control it, they would flood inside her mind. Images of people gasping their last breaths, screams of pain, the quiet sobbing of those left behind.
“Excuse me,” she said to the help desk volunteer. “I’m looking for a Jeannie Kehr. She’s here recovering from surgery.”
Sarah didn’t remember being told about the surgery, but she knew it was true. The surgery occurred the night before, when she was brought in to stop the bleeding.
“Room 303. Take the elevators up, and check in at the front desk.”
The elevators were slow and stopped on the second floor. Impatience welled up inside Sarah, and she didn’t even know why. There wasn’t anything she would be able to say or do. She wasn’t a doctor or a therapist. But at least she could be there for her friend.
The elevator finally stopped, and she raced off. She quickly checked in at the front desk and then found room 303. Jeannie was in bed, her mom sitting on a stool next to her. They were both watching television, though Sarah could tell neither one of them was paying attention to it.
Jeannie’s face was heavily bruised, her left eye nearly closed with swelling. Her lips were cut, and her nose was swollen and bandaged. Her right wrist was in a cast.
Jeannie’s eyes slowly drifted over to where Sarah was standing. The white in her eyes hardly showed due to the burst blood vessels. Sarah didn’t say anything. She felt tears and tried not to show it. But Jeannie started crying.
Sarah stepped inside the room. She wanted to put her arms around her friend, to tell her that it would be all right, that she would survive and move on. But she couldn’t. Jeannie was sobbing uncontrollably now.
“You knew,” she mumbled, “you knew.”
“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Jeannie, I did.”
“You could’ve stopped me. You could’ve taken my keys.”
Sarah rushed to the bedside and tried to hold her hand but Jeannie pulled away. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve done more to stop you. I’m sorry.”
“Get out.”
“Jeannie, no,” she said through tears. “No, don’t do that.”
“Get out!” she screamed.
Sarah felt the cold stare of her friend’s mother. They needed someone to blame right now. Life had thrown them intense pain, and they didn’t know what to do with it. People rarely did. If it helped them, Sarah would take the blame.
“Okay. I’ll leave.”
Jeannie was crying, and her hand came up to her eyes. “You’re a freak. You’re a freak!”
The words cut and startled Sarah. She swallowed and wanted to say something, wanted to explain, but no explanation would come. All she could say was, “I’m so sorry.”
“Get out!”
Jeannie’s mother said, “You’re upsetting her. Please leave.”
Sarah turned and ran out of the room, tears streaming down her face. She bumped into a nurse and mumbled something that sounded like “Excuse me,” but she couldn’t be sure. The hallways looked the same in both directions. She felt vertigo and had to lean against the wall a moment. Her heart was racing, and she was getting tunnel vision. Putting her hand over her eyes, she began to breathe deeply, trying to calm herself.
It took a few moments, but her heart began to slow. She wiped the tears away and continued down the hall and out of the hospital.
Sarah sat in her car and cried for a long time. She wouldn’t be able to face Jeannie again. How could she? Maybe Jeannie would calm down, and Sarah could explain, but what explanation could she give that would satisfy her? Jeannie believed Sarah had kno
wn about this beforehand and hadn’t done everything in her power to stop her. Sarah could say she was drunk that night and tried her best to talk Jeannie out of going, but she knew there were no apologies that could be made.
She started her car and pulled away from the front entrance. She realized she’d forgotten to tip the valet, so she stopped and, still crying, gave the man a few dollars.
She’d driven halfway across the city when she’d finally calmed enough to control the tears. She needed to see the ocean right now. The way the sunlight reflected off the waves, the sand underneath her feet. This was the hottest time of year, and soon winter would come again, and with it the cold and the dark.
California called to her like a beacon. She knew that was where she would end up. Something about the sunshine and the people. Maybe even Hawaii. Anywhere that had plenty of sun and a relaxed environment.
She parked in the lot by a strip of beach called Champaign Cove overlooking the pier. Sarah got out and strolled down the sidewalk to the sand and took off her shoes. When she first left Lancaster County, she had never seen an ocean, other than a picture in an outdated textbook. The beauty of it took her breath away. Since then, she’d come here whenever she needed a moment to herself to think.
She buried her feet in the sand and brought her knees up to her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she felt warm and protected. She closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the sound of the waves, the way they crackled against the beach. Seagulls scavenged for scraps on the sand, and their squawks made her grin. They sounded so innocent, devoid of any malice or deception. It seemed sometimes like everything people did was a deception, even to themselves. Maybe especially to themselves.
And that’s when she saw it.
A man on a boat with a child. The man was strangling the child, and the child was trying to scream. It jolted her eyes open, and the child was there, in front of her. Pale with a red throat and eyes that had hemorrhaged and bulged.
“No,” she said. “No.”
She closed her eyes. The boat was still there. From the man’s tube socks, his messy and wild hair, thick mustache, and the Journey song from the ’80s on the radio, she knew what she was seeing had happened decades ago.
Sarah opened her eyes. The child was gone.
She took a deep breath then let it out slowly and watched a few waves lap. She told herself the beauty wasn’t gone, that it was still there and she was enjoying this moment, but she knew she wasn’t. So instead of forcing herself to stay, she rose and walked to her car.
11
The restaurant was a fast-food hybrid place. Somewhere that had the appearance of a sit-down restaurant but really just fried up the food as quickly as possible and didn’t have wait staff.
Giovanni stood in line behind Rosen, who was eyeing the menu like a child in a toy store. Rosen decided on the double cheeseburger and then mumbled to himself that it was bad for him and said he would get a salad. When their turn came, he ordered the double cheeseburger. Along with fries, a Coke, and a slice of pie.
“What would you like, sir?” the cashier asked Giovanni.
“Just a salad with whatever you have that’s fat free.”
Rosen looked at him.
“What?”
They sat down in a booth, and Giovanni looked over the families in the restaurant. Some seemed to be having a lot of fun, playing with their children and joking around. Some were quiet and ate in silence. Others had children who looked terrified to do anything without permission.
“You sure you just want a salad?” Rosen said.
“Yeah.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. You’ve got a cat and order salads.”
“My manhood’s secure. I like cats. Dogs are so needy.”
He nodded. “That’s true, I guess. Although they’re more loyal. They’ll die for you. You better believe when you really need him your cat isn’t going to be there.”
“Like when?”
“I don’t know. Like when you have a giant mouse attacking you. Or Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door or something.”
Giovanni chuckled. A woman walked in just then, looked at him, and smiled. He smiled back.
“She’s cute,” Rosen said.
“Yeah.”
“You gonna talk to her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Giovanni leaned back in the booth. His back occasionally ached from an injury in high school. “I’m not interested right now. Relationships complicate things.”
“You ever been married?”
He nodded. “I have.”
“What happened?”
The order was called, and Giovanni was relieved. He went to get it and brought the tray of food back to the booth. He took a napkin and tucked it into his collar, hoping the subject had passed.
“So?” Rosen said, shoving a fry into his mouth. “What happened?”
“We divorced.”
“I know, Sherlock. Why?”
“It’s not something I like talking about.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
A moment crawled by in silence.
“Did she pass?” Giovanni said.
“Who?” When Giovanni didn’t say anything, Rosen looked at him. “Oh. Yes. Pneumonia. A really brutal bout. She was already ill, and it just hit her. She fought like hell, but life had other plans.”
Giovanni took a bite of salad. The leaves were wilted, and the dressing tasted slimy. He pushed the salad away and pretended to wipe his lips with a napkin but really spit out the leaves. He crumpled the napkin and placed it off to the side.
“She cheated on me,” he finally said. “When I was in Iraq.”
“Oh,” Rosen said, looking up. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s a little weird we’re going to visit a psychic,” he said, changing topics.
Rosen didn’t respond as he took a bite of the burger, grease dripping down onto the tray. “I don’t know what she is. She could’ve been in on it for all I know. But she had something to do with catching Nathan Archer, and I think we need to follow up on that. Never leave a lead hanging out there. You never know what’s going to get you a collar. A lot of this job is just pure luck.”
“Mickey Parsons didn’t think so.”
“Mickey’s a fluke. I’m talking about the average run-of-the-mill agent. You and me.”
The woman who had smiled at Giovanni sat down with a group of friends. She kept looking over at him with a grin and then away shyly. She was cute, dressed conservatively, and appeared to have a normality that the last few girls he’d been on dates with hadn’t. One of them, in fact, upon finding out he was a federal agent, told him that he should’ve told her that at the beginning, and then she took off without saying goodbye.
But he knew what it would lead to. The inevitable conversation of when they would move in together. Giovanni couldn’t move in with anyone. Some nights, he woke up screaming. Once, he had pulled out his sidearm and fired a round into the wall. That wasn’t something he wanted to bring somebody else into.
Rosen’s phone buzzed. He checked it and read through a document as he bit down on his burger with his free hand. “You ever heard of Pink’s?”
“No. Why?”
“It’s the bar Sarah King works at. About a half-hour drive. Let’s finish up and hit there first.”
Giovanni saw Pink’s first and pointed it out to Rosen. Something about the way bars looked in the daylight made him uncomfortable. As though something people liked to keep hidden had revealed itself. He stared at it for a moment before turning to Rosen, who was flipping through his phone, his face contorted in bewilderment.
“What is it?” Giovanni asked.
“Just don’t have much of a history for her. The first thing we have is a driver’s license at eighteen. Nothing before that.”
“Maybe she was a good girl who didn’t look for trouble?”
“There are usually credit reports and things. She didn’t even have a Social Security number.”
“Didn’t have one, or we couldn’t find it?”
“No, she was never assigned one. Not until two years ago.”
“Weird.”
Rosen shrugged. “There are a lot of groups that consider themselves separate from the United States and don’t participate in any of that stuff.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Let’s go. I could use a drink anyway.”
As they walked, Giovanni scanned the surroundings. Pink’s was in the industrial section of the city, which had the cheapest rents for the amount of space needed and therefore nothing decorative. All the buildings were functional and nothing else.
Pink’s clearly wasn’t open yet, but Rosen peered through one of the darkened windows. “I see people inside.” He pounded on one of the heavy metal side doors and then paced while he waited.
Giovanni leaned back on a railing along the side of the building, probably the remnants of some fence. It was times like these he wished he still smoked. Not for the buzz, but just for the action. Something to fill the dull moments between events. He’d had to kick the habit to keep the fitness requirements for the Bureau, and Mickey had told him it didn’t look professional. He said it could give people the impression that you didn’t have control over yourself. Giovanni didn’t know if that was true, but he stopped smoking anyway.
A large man in a tight T-shirt that looked as if it might split at any second appeared at the door, eyeing them suspiciously. Rather than speaking, Rosen just showed him his badge. The man’s eyes changed, along with his facial expression. Filled for a moment with anger, and then fear. Bars and clubs dreaded law enforcement more than anything. One or two vice busts, along with the enormous administrative fines, and a single weekend could mean the difference between staying open and filing for bankruptcy.
“How can I help you?” he said in a deep voice that reminded Giovanni of Barry White.
“We were hoping we could speak to Sarah King if she’s here.”
Blood Dahlia - A Thriller (Sarah King Mysteries) Page 5