Cuff Master

by Frances Stockton

  “I’m going to see if I can find anything more on this trial and Jenna Bailey’s adoption records.”

  Sam promised she’d bring fresh coffee when she came back, picked up her laptop and headed off to the computer lab that had the kind of technology that made a former hacker salivate to get their hands on it. Ethan went back to work, trying to piece together what they knew with what they were learning.

  Nothing in his investigation gave any indication that Alisa had done anything wrong when she married Spencer. She’d needed the financial stability marriage offered and took it. She stood by her husband, was his alibi on the night Jenna supposedly ran away to be with a boy she’d met on an online role players game.

  At the time, the Baileys couldn’t turn over the girl’s computer because it’d gone missing with Jenna. It had been as if a fifteen-year-old girl had never had email, Facebook, MySpace or even the outdated AOL correspondence except that game. Her phone records were clean as a whistle.

  Terrence Mills had developed a fake teenaged persona and preyed on teenaged girls on the verge of either running away or on the fringe of society. Some had been bullied, some were runaways who had been victims of sexual abuse and some had simply been ignored.

  Jenna certainly hadn’t been ignored. But she’d rebelled over her mother and father’s divorce by going Goth. She’d been so young and Ethan wished to God he’d known her before she became one of his cases. He’d have liked to be a positive male role model for her.

  While Sam was doing her thing with the video, Ethan put aside the files on the Andrews and Baileys and concentrated on Jenna’s reopened case file and Terrence Mills’ arrest, arraignment and investigation records. Everything on Mills was neat and tidy. If it weren’t for Sam, the inconsistencies of Jenna’s autopsy record could easily be overlooked.

  A .22 was standard-issue for point-blank execution-style shootings and Mills had a .22 Ruger in his car when he was arrested a mile away from the warehouse when it went up in flames. Ballistics confirmed the 9mm Glock semi-auto left at the crime scene was used on seven of the girls.

  When pressed, Mills claimed he’d gotten a tip from a buyer that vice was coming in to clean house, shot the girls and took off, maintaining that he did not set the fire. Vice would later find his fingerprints on a gas can at the warehouse.

  A history of juvenile delinquency, including arson, sex crimes and child pornography found on Terrence Mills’ home computer helped convict him.

  The public defender had attempted to create reasonable doubt in the guilt of Jennifer aka Jenna Bailey’s murder by maintaining that she had in fact been sold at auction and the buyer himself had returned the girl dead and tipped off both the cops and Mills.

  On a hunch, Ethan looked back over the files for the name of Mills’ buyer who’d tipped both him and the cops off. It made him sick to even think it. What if the buyer was connected to Spencer Bailey, or worse, was Spencer?

  The primary hiccup in Spencer’s background was the robbery at his grandfather’s building in New York, Maura Andrews’ alibi and an impoverished security guard who’d never had a chance against the powerful Bailey family. Ethan read the transcripts of that trial again, including the evidence hearing.

  George Barnes had claimed the girl he’d seen with Spencer had been a teenager and the two had been having intercourse. His story was considered inadmissible because there was no one to corroborate the story and Spencer had an alibi, Maura.

  “We’ve got it, partner,” Sam interrupted.

  “Excuse me?” Ethan asked, setting his laptop aside.

  “We’ve got warrants for the orchard and to bring Maura Andrews in for questioning in the Jenna Bailey case, including the recent fires. Captain Morrison’s working with the DA and state’s attorney general right now to see if we can get a judge to release her juvenile records.”

  “Hot damn, finally.” Ethan grabbed up his badge and pulled on his coat to cover his gun strapped to his hip.

  “One thing, we’re going to have to bring in Concord Police Department when we get to the orchard. Morrison’s contacted the Salem and Danvers boys investigating arsons in their towns and they want in too. Expect the state boys to show up, this crosses so many districts and counties.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want to step on any toes. How about Spencer, any chance we can bring his ass in for questioning?”

  “We’re close, real close. I talked to Alisa, who is willing to come and talk to us. She told me she found two things in her husband’s home office safe. A small recorder similar to what you described Morgan was missing after she was attacked and a laptop slathered in Goth rock band stickers.”

  “Jenna’s missing computer,” Ethan said.

  “Looks that way, although Alisa maintains the computer is broken. I told her to bring it in ASAP, along with the recorder, and to be very careful. Her husband is supposedly at a meeting in Manchester, New Hampshire, with Bartholomew Stratham. She’s on her way.”

  “We should stay until she gets here,” Ethan insisted.

  “Captain Morrison will assist Alisa. He’s updated on the situation and will handle her with kid gloves. Before we go, we need to check in with Morrison.”

  They walked off to Captain Morrison’s office.

  “Detectives, have a seat,” Morrison invited when they knocked and walked in. “We’re still waiting on the judge to sign the warrants. Fill me in on what you’ve been doing so far. Good call, Detective Riley, on connecting video feed NYPD sent us to Maura Andrews.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Sam said proudly. “I couldn’t trace the man with her in the video as accurately, though there are physical similarities to Dylan Bailey, Spencer Bailey’s first cousin. The video does establish that Maura was standing next to Erica White the last time she was seen alive.”

  While he and Sam continued to discuss the case with the captain, Ethan’s phone went off. Not recognizing the ringtone, he excused himself and stepped out of the office to take the call.

  “Detective Maddox speaking, how can I help you?” he greeted.

  “Hello, Detective, this is Darren Hess, proprietor of Hess Menswear Shop in Cambridge,” the man introduced himself.

  “Yes, I remember,” Ethan said.

  “I’ve been combing through my records as you’d requested,” Darren continued. “I realize it’s taken awhile to get back to you and apologize for the trouble. The shop was vandalized soon after the Maddox wedding party returned their rentals.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No one sustained injury. It happened after hours and the vandalism caused a few of our suits to be ruined, namely the ones you all returned.”

  “Was it a fire, by chance, Mr. Hess?”

  “Yes, minor, in a trashcan, along with some anti-gay graffiti on the walls and red spray paint on the suits. Cops concluded we were targeted because my partner and I recently married in front of the State House and we were wearing the same cut and style of tuxedos.”

  “My recommendation is to have the officers investigating it as a hate crime come talk to Captain Morrison at my precinct. There’s a chance the incident is related to some other fires in the area that were linked to an arsonist.”

  “I will do that, thank you,” Darren stated.

  “I’m sorry about the trouble, but glad to hear no one was injured. Were you able to find anything about the tuxedo I’d rented?”

  “Your tuxedo and ten others were sold at discount rate to our establishment by a basement warehouse specializing in menswear in the North End that had declared bankruptcy.”

  Damn, that didn’t help Ethan find a connection between Spencer Bailey and Hess Menswear. Then he thought of something. “Mr. Hess, by chance, do you have the address of that former menswear shop?”

  “Yes,” Hess said, rattling off the numbers. Ethan opened the GPS on his phone, finding exactly what he needed. “It was in the Bailey and Stratham Professional Building. All sorts of businesses rent space there.”

  “I
know of the building,” Ethan said. “Thank you, Mr. Hess, you’ve been helpful.”

  The call ended and Ethan went back into the office. He informed Morrison of the call, who immediately made some calls to the find out the names of the officers who’d investigated the vandalism of Hess’ menswear shop.

  The connection between Ethan’s tuxedo and Bailey had been established.

  Jenna Bailey may not have been wrong about her stepfather at all.

  Deep in his gut, Ethan believed Spencer had something to do with that girl’s death. If there was a shred of proof out there, he was going to find it and use it to bring the fucker to his knees.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Morgan didn’t know how long she’d slept. She didn’t know much other than a young girl spoke to her in her dreams, the most common form of communication she had with those who had passed away.

  Please hear me, you must help her. Help my mom. Danger, she’s angry and sad.

  Opening her eyes, Morgan was struck by the fact that the entire room was spinning. She still had a headache, but this time, rest seemed to protect her from the worst of the discomfort, enabling her to focus on the frail figure of a Goth teenager still dressed in black.

  Jenna? Morgan looked around the room, then quickly closed her eyes to avoid bringing attention from her guardians’ playing cards at the kitchen table. She didn’t need to see Jenna to talk to the girl.

  Mom found my computer. She knows what her husband did, that he and my aunt bought and killed me. She wants to avenge me.

  What can I do to help, Jenna?

  Warn Detective Maddox that my aunt had been hired by my stepfather to kill Erica White, but she wrongly believes that she failed and that you are Erica White returning to get your revenge on them, warn him. She hurt you and my mom is terrified that she could be next.

  Why can’t your aunt tell the difference between me and Erica?

  She doesn’t see faces the way everyone else does. You and Erica are psychics.

  Erica was actually psychic?

  Not like you, but she could see me. She could see all the girls who’d been bought before me. Tell the detectives that Erica is buried under the oldest apple tree in the orchard.

  The orchard, everything goes back to that orchard. Are the other girls you’d mentioned, the ones bought, are they buried with Erica?

  Yes. Now I’m worried about my mom. If she reaches Aunt Maura and my stepfather at the orchard first, there will be bloodshed, hers, theirs, your husband’s, maybe everyone’s.

  Bloodshed? Morgan didn’t correct Jenna about her husband. She and Ethan may not be married yet, but it sure felt as though they were husband and wife.

  Can’t stay longer, someone’s coming. Help, please send help.

  And with that Jenna Bailey’s manifestation evaporated from her mind’s eye, even as a heavy set of footsteps stormed into the studio apartment, followed by quieter, female ones.

  “Phalen? Cassie?” Morgan called out, sitting up only to have Taran and Alex jump out of their seats so fast that they knocked their chairs over.

  “Oh Morgan, we heard what happened. We’re so sorry,” Cassie said, rushing up to the bed to smother Morgan in a friendly but gentle hug.

  “Careful, Cassie, she’s not feeling well,” Taran warned. He was already on his way to the other side of the bed when his older brother stepped into Taran’s path.

  “We won’t hurt her,” Phalen promised, taking over the other side of the gigantic bed that didn’t seem big at all with a guy the size of a Maddox in it. “Hey there, darlin’, heard you’ve had some trouble.”

  “You two didn’t have to come home,” she argued.

  “How could we stay away knowing you needed us?” Phalen demanded.

  Very much aware that he could split bricks with his bare hands and break most mortals, Morgan welcomed the strong, tender hug of a big brother.

  “Ryan came by and checked Morgan,” Alex said. “She was so tired when he came in, he made sure not to disturb her for long and she fell right back to sleep. He recommended we let her rest, to not take any more Tylenol unless the migraine gets severe and it’s been more than six hours since the last dose and to keep her hydrated.”

  “Get her some water. You have one of your headaches?” Phalen asked.

  “Yeah, it’d be great if Ethan could be here. He always knows how to make me feel better. But he’s out catching the bad guys right now.”

  “Will you let me try some pressure point pain relief on you?” Phalen offered.

  “Sure,” she permitted.

  Phalen had her sit up and began by pressing his thumbs to the back of her head, where her skull met her neck and applied a gentle massage-like touch. He continued by finding the meaty part of her hand between her thumb and index finger, squeezing hard enough to almost hurt.

  Gradually, he worked down to her foot and where her leg bone connected to her ankle, finishing up by massaging her temples. By the time he’d reached her temples, her headache was a distant memory and Taran retrieved a bottle of water from the galley kitchen fridge.

  “Did it help?” Phalen asked. “You look better.”

  “Yes, thank you. You have to teach that to Ethan,” Morgan said after taking a long drink.

  “I’ll do that. If you feel any pain at all, you tell me, okay?”

  “I will. Can someone bring me a phone? I need to call Ethan right now.”

  “Sure.” Phalen produced a phone that made Taran’s look ancient.

  “Maddox men have a phone fetish,” Morgan said, not even aware of what she said until she said it.

  “I’d say,” Cassie murmured, laughing softly.

  “Cassie bought this one for me as a wedding present. Where is your phone, Morgan? I want to get yours onto our family plan.”

  “It’s in Cassie’s office. Mine’s older than dirt. I used Taran’s to call the adjuster earlier.”

  “I took care of him,” Alex reassured.

  “Taran, give Morgan your phone for now. We’ll get her a new one tomorrow.”

  “No,” Morgan objected. “I’ll use yours, Phalen. I have to call Ethan right now. Jenna’s counting on me to save her mom.”

  “Jenna?” Phalen repeated.

  “Long story, we’ll fill you in,” Taran said.

  Morgan took Phalen’s phone and found Ethan’s number in the contacts, called it and waited…going to voicemail. Frustrated, she left a message, telling him about Jenna’s visit, her aunt’s confusion in believing Morgan was Erica White and Alisa Bailey heading to the orchard.

  To be safe, she texted Ethan, he sent a reply a minute or two later. Got your message, thx. Sam and I are in route to Concord.

  Morgan replied, letting him know she loved him, that Phalen and Cassie came home and most importantly to be careful. A musical note indicated that he texted back in clipped sentences.

  Just arrived at the orchard. Place is weirdly deserted.

  She was getting better at using a touchscreen keyboard. Her fingers tapped quickly.

  Be careful, Ethan, please. Don’t take chances. Maura thinks she failed to kill Erica White when she was supposed to and that I’m actually Erica returning to get revenge on her and Spencer Bailey.

  Don’t worry. Morgan, if you think Maura Andrews has been mistaking you for Erica, she’s a threat to you. And right now, I can’t be sure she’s here. Maura’s a cunning bitch.

  She’s confused.

  Doesn’t change my decision. Tell Phalen he’s your bodyguard until I get home. Will be a late night. LY.

  Phalen took the phone back, read the messages and sighed. “Well, sis, Ethan appointed me your bodyguard. It’s a done deal.”

  “What about us?” Taran objected, looking over at Alex.

  “All I know right now is something bad is about to go down tonight and Ethan’s worried,” Phalen said.

  “It’s nighttime?” Morgan asked, thinking to look out the nearest window. Sure enough, it was dark outside. She’d slept the who
le day away.

  Suddenly, a terrible vision overcame her, something that nothing in Phalen’s healing arsenal could prevent.

  She heard it, saw it, the arguing, the accusations…gunfire…gunshots, blood everywhere…Ethan falling…more blood spilling on the ground around him…too much blood!

  “Got to go puke,” Morgan cried out, vaulting out of bed so fast her head spun. Her only destination was the bathroom, where fear made her vomit into the toilet.

  “Please be wrong, please be wrong,” she prayed, wishing she was not psychic, that she hadn’t just foreseen Ethan getting shot.

  It shouldn’t be. She usually couldn’t sense things about him. But the vision repeated!

  “Phalen!” she screamed, refusing to get sick again because it wasn’t helping.

  “Right here, darlin’, come on up,” Phalen reassured, easing down beside her and taking her by the elbow to gently bring her to her feet.

  “Ethan’s in danger. You have to go help him. Please!”

  “If I could, I would, but I don’t have authority to interfere with a police investigation. You need to trust him to do his job. He’s well trained and has Sam with him.”

  “You don’t get it! I saw him get shot. Alisa Bailey shot him. Call him, text him, stop him from going to Maura’s trailer. If you don’t, I’m stealing your SUV and saving him myself.”

  “Can’t let you do that. You’re staying with me. But I will get word to him.”

  “I’m already on it,” Taran stated. “I sent a text to Ethan and Samantha to use caution when approaching the trailer and to watch out for Alisa who should be considered armed and dangerous. I haven’t gotten a response back yet.”

  “We can pray,” Cassie suggested behind them.

  Phalen guided Morgan to the sink so she could rinse her mouth with mouthwash that he had stored in a medicine cabinet. When she was finished, he escorted her out of the bathroom and back over to the bed.

  She sat down, asked them all to get on the bed and took Cassie and Phalen’s hands. Alex wedged himself between Cassie and Taran. When everyone was linked up, they prayed.