by Karen Rose
‘Wait. You hit Stone O’Bannion with a shovel?’ Bishop asked.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt him. Well, I did, but I thought he was the one who’d taken us.’
‘Understandable,’ Bishop said. ‘Mr O’Bannion has some explaining of his own to do too, so don’t worry about that. I was just surprised that you used a shovel.’
‘It was all I had. That and a few kitchen knives.’
And she’d survived, Deacon thought, incredibly impressed.
Corinne struggled to see the stretcher behind her. ‘How is Marcus? Nobody will tell me. He got shot protecting me. He shielded me. Then Stone drove the Subaru at the gunman to keep him from shooting us anymore, but he ran away. The gunman, not Stone. He ran away and took Roza with him.’
Deacon and Bishop looked at each other in surprise. ‘Could Marcus be your anonymous caller?’ Deacon asked, and Bishop nodded, her frown a troubled one.
‘I suppose it’s possible. It didn’t sound like Stone, I know that much. I’d say both O’Bannion brothers have some explaining to do.’ She bent back to Corinne. ‘Tell us about the man who abducted you.’
‘I never saw his face. He was maybe six feet tall. He wore a ski mask. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ Deacon said when Corinne became agitated. ‘You’ve told us how tall he was. How big was he? Stone O’Bannion’s size?’
She frowned. ‘No. He was . . . normal. I shot him, though. With Marcus’s gun. I hit him three times, but the first two shots hit body armor. The third hit him in the arm. It slowed him down for a few seconds – long enough for Stone to rush him with the Subaru.’
Deacon felt a thrill of excitement. She’d shot him. The killer who left nothing of himself behind might just have left them a gift. ‘We could have DNA.’
Bishop’s eyes were bright. ‘I know. We’ll have CSU check for a blood trail. Corinne, tell us about Roza.’
Tears filled Corinne’s eyes. ‘She’s only eleven. She was born in that place.’
Deacon stared. ‘She was born in the basement? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘That’s what she said. She’d never been outside. She was so scared. But brave. She let me drag her all the way.’ A sob caught in the young woman’s throat. ‘Her mother died there. Roza buried her. She buried her own mother.’
‘Oh no,’ Bishop murmured. ‘Arianna told us about Roza. We hoped her mother was alive.’
‘Arianna? You talked to her? She’s alive?’
‘She’s alive and safe,’ Bishop assured her. ‘She’s been so worried about you.’
Corinne started crying, overcome. ‘I thought she was dead.’
Deacon stroked Corinne’s hair. ‘Arianna escaped. She went to find help, but you were gone by the time we got there. She’s in the hospital, recovering.’
‘Is she . . . Did he . . .’ she asked, her tears overwhelming her.
‘She’s safe now,’ Deacon murmured. ‘So are you.’
‘Oh God. He did. That bastard.’ She struck out, weakly hitting his shoulder. ‘He hurt her. She was just starting over and he hurt her.’
‘She’s strong. And she’s got support. I think that knowing you’re alive will be exactly what she needs to hold on.’
Corinne visibly fought to bring her emotions under control. ‘Roza said he killed so many. Oh, dammit. The eyes. He had a collection of . . . jars. Filled with parts. Eyes. I saw them in the cabin.’
‘His souvenirs,’ Bishop said. ‘Do you remember anything else about Roza? Did she tell you her mother’s name?’
‘Yes. It was Amy. Short for Amethyst, she said. Amethyst Johnson. She and her aunt were taken at the same time. He killed the aunt and buried her. She said he didn’t let her mother say goodbye. He beat her mother to death because they used the oven to make tea.’
‘That’s a huge help,’ Bishop said. ‘Anything else? Any other details you can recall?’
‘She said zed. Roza with a zed. Her name is Firoza.’
‘Very, very good,’ Deacon praised. ‘Is she British?’
‘She didn’t have any accent and I assumed she would have picked up something from her mother, living alone in the basement with her all those years. I was thinking Canadian.’
The young woman was sharp. ‘You have helped us so much,’ Deacon said. ‘Is there anything we can do for you? Anyone we can call?’
‘No family. Just tell Arianna I’m all right and I’ll see her soon. Tell her to hold on for me.’
‘Absolutely. If you need us, you have someone call us. I’m Deacon Novak and she’s Scarlett Bishop. And if you forget our names, just ask for the guy with white hair.’
‘Okay. Oh, wait. Wait. There were others. Two men, in the van he brought us in. I think they were both dead already. I think he buried them in the cabin.’
‘We know about the cabin,’ Bishop explained. ‘We’re going to talk to Marcus and Stone, then the cabin is next on our list.’
‘I took his knife. The old man who was dead. It’s in my pocket. His family might want it.’
Deacon found himself swallowing hard. Most uninjured people wouldn’t have cared. She’d been through hell and still thought of others. ‘Would you like us to take it to them?’
She nodded. ‘Tell them thank you. Tell them it saved our lives.’
Bishop gently took the Swiss army knife from Corinne’s pocket. ‘We’ll make sure they get it. I’m sure they’ll be glad that you were able to use it to escape.’
‘For Roza. I did it for her. Please find her. I’ll take her if nobody can take care of her.’
Again Deacon’s throat grew tight. ‘You are a very kind woman, Miss Longstreet.’ He turned his attention to the paramedics, who seemed as emotionally affected as he and Bishop were. ‘Where are you taking her?’
‘To Arianna,’ Corinne insisted. ‘Take me to the hospital where she is.’
‘County General Hospital in Cincinnati,’ Deacon told the medics.
‘Lexington’s closer,’ one of them pointed out.
‘Lexington’s socked in,’ the other said. ‘Fog. We can do Cinci if that’s her wish.’
‘It is,’ Deacon said. ‘Corinne, you’re going to where Arianna is, so you’ll get to see her. My sister is one of the ER docs on duty there. Her name is Novak too. She’ll take good care of you. We’ll keep searching for Roza and we’ll keep you updated. I promise.’
Together he and Bishop went the O’Bannion brother they hadn’t yet met. ‘His status?’ Deacon asked the medic.
‘Probably a collapsed lung. He lost a lot of blood. We have the bleeding stopped for now. The Longstreet woman actually did first aid on him first, before stopping her own bleeding. Amazing woman. Did I hear you say she’s going to Cincinnati?’
‘Yes. County General. Can these two as well?’
‘Yeah. We’ll put this guy, Marcus, on the first transport with Miss Longstreet. The other guy, Stone, he’s bleeding too and may have a skull fracture, but he’s more stable. He can wait for the second chopper.’
Again Deacon crouched on one side of the stretcher, Bishop on the other. ‘What’s your name?’ Bishop asked, leaning in close to hear the answer.
‘Marcus O’Bannion,’ he rasped out in a deep bass.
Bishop nodded. ‘It’s the same voice. You called me,’ she said to Marcus. ‘Why?’
‘Right thing to do.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me your name?’
Marcus blew out a weak sigh. ‘Should have. Trying to protect family.’
‘Do you know where your father is?’ Bishop asked.
‘With Mother,’ Marcus whispered.
Deacon frowned. ‘Why did he sneak out of his house to go see her? Why go to all the trouble to escape surveillance?’
‘I can answer your questions,’ Stone called, voice slurred. ‘Leave him alone.’
‘And Marcus really shouldn’t be talking,’ the medic cautioned.
‘Okay. Two more questions,’ Bishop said. ‘Who is the fourth body in th
e cabin? The one you said belonged to you. Is he your son?’
‘I can answer that too,’ Stone said belligerently. ‘Leave him alone.’
‘You’ll get your turn,’ Deacon said, wishing he could hit Stone with a shovel too. If Stone had told the truth yesterday, so much trouble and heartache might have been avoided. ‘Marcus? Who is the fourth body?’
A tear leaked from Marcus’s eye. ‘Mikhail. Our brother. Only seventeen.’
‘Your brother?’ Deacon swiveled to look at Stone. Gone was the confident, arrogant asshole they’d talked to the day before. His belligerence stripped away, Stone looked haunted.
Deacon met Bishop’s eyes, saw that she was as surprised as he was.
‘All right,’ Bishop said gently. ‘Last one. Why did you shield Corinne?’ She and Deacon leaned forward to hear Marcus’s answer.
‘She might know who killed Mikhail. Needed to know. Plus, right thing to do.’
At the roar of the descending helicopter, Deacon and Bishop rose and stepped back. The helicopter landed and the medics sprang into action, loading Corinne and Marcus. Within a few short minutes they were gone, stirring fallen leaves in their wake.
‘Wait one,’ Bishop said when Deacon started toward Stone. ‘I want to update Isenberg. Jeremy at ex-wife’s house.’ She spoke aloud as she typed. ‘Corinne en route to County in Cinci, Medevac. Third body is an O’B brother, Mikhail, age seventeen. No info on fourth body. Pls confirm Jeremy is there ASAP.’
She hit send, then turned to Deacon. ‘If we can confirm that Jeremy really is with his ex-wife right now, he can’t have done this. There’s no way he could have shot Corinne and Marcus, grabbed the child and made it back to Cincinnati in that short amount of time.’
‘I know. But given that his cabin was used to hide the newest bodies, and that the bodies in the basement are sutured with surgical precision . . . Hell. Someone wanted us looking at him.’
‘The question would be who,’ Bishop said. ‘Not Stone, because he’s here. Could be Henson the Third or even Combs, but they didn’t take Roza. Wrong body type. This guy was “normal”.’ She bit her lip. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Deacon scowled. ‘I’m thinking now that I wish I’d gone upstairs with the pink genie gymnast to see if Jordan really was in there. We’ve based a lot on what he has told us and dismissed him as a suspect immediately because of Alda Lane’s alibi.’
‘I’m thinking that too. We need to put Jordan back on the suspect list – at least until we can establish where he’s been for the last hour.’
‘I’m having surveillance put on his gallery and his townhouse.’ Deacon texted the request to Isenberg. ‘Now let’s have a conversation with Stone.’
Eastern Kentucky, Wednesday 5 November, 1.35 P.M.
He was shaking. Shaking. Dammit. It was the second time in a month that a bitch had put a bullet in him. Faith had shot him in the arm when he’d climbed through her window in Miami. Luckily it had only been a nick and the coat he’d worn had absorbed the blood, but only because he’d run before any of it had spilled on the windowsill or fire escape.
He never left DNA behind. Never.
Except that this time he had. Damn that Longstreet bitch. He snarled. The bullet had been a through-and-through, but it still hurt. And fuck those two clowns that came to her rescue. Dammit. Driving that Subaru straight at him . . . They’d almost killed him. What the fuck were they doing there anyway? They’d ruined everything.
Luckily he’d been smart enough to have figured out the direction Longstreet and Roza had taken. After tracking them to the main trail he’d known where they’d emerge. Then, it had been only a matter of driving to the main road, parking the truck out of sight, and following the trail from its end to intercept them.
Except Longstreet had been smart too. She and the child had hiked parallel to the trail and in his hurry, he’d passed them. He’d heard them running for the road and had come upon them just in time.
His escape had been just as close. He’d passed law enforcement vehicles going toward Longstreet and her saviors as he’d been driving away.
He glanced into the backseat. At least he had the child. Although he was afraid he’d end up having to kill her too. She’d hit her head hard on the way down that hill and was now unresponsive. If she didn’t come to soon, she was as much a liability as Longstreet had been.
And it wasn’t like he could waltz into a hospital with her. He could do her stitches, but with a head injury, she needed different skills than his.
His fingers tapped a beat on the dead equestrian’s steering wheel, a smile bending his lips. On the other hand, he could bring a doctor to her. He knew of just the one.
Unfortunately the cops would find the cabin now. They’d find the dead equestrian’s body. She was the kind that people reported missing. They’d be looking for her fancy red truck.
So he’d have to switch vehicles again. As he drove down the country road, he saw the perfect choice – a tan Chevy Suburban with darkened windows, parked in front of a double-wide trailer. And the engine had been left running. He wouldn’t even have to kill anyone for it.
Quickly he made the switch, laying the child on the backseat and transferring his guns and, importantly, his collection of jars and souvenirs into the back of the vehicle. Then he started for Cincinnati. Longstreet had never seen his face so she couldn’t ID him. He’d retrieved the only person who could ID him. And he hadn’t lost that much blood on the ground. It had been so dry, it probably got soaked up. All in all, things could be much worse.
Chapter Thirty
Eastern Kentucky, Wednesday 5 November, 2.15 P.M.
That Stone O’Bannion was the least badly hurt of the three victims said quite a lot, Deacon thought. His face was gray, his eyes bloodshot. His black windbreaker and hoodie had been removed, exposing a jagged tear in his T-shirt, which was crusted with dried blood.
‘You look like shit, O’Bannion,’ Bishop said without preamble. ‘Before we get into how you got to looking that way, can you describe the man who shot Marcus and took the child? Sounds like you got the closest to him with your Subaru.’
‘Couldn’t see his face. Ski mask. About six feet, maybe one-ninety. Built more like Marcus than me. Dark eyes. I think. The woman shot him. Winged his right arm. He couldn’t lift the rifle too fast after. She shot him in the chest first, but he must have been wearing Kevlar. He didn’t go down and her shots would have been kill shots. Woman’s a damn good shot.’
‘Where was he standing when he got shot?’ Deacon asked so he could tell CSU where to search for blood samples.
‘Probably just in front of where the Subaru is now,’ Stone said. ‘I was trying to run him down when he shot out the windshield and the tires. Stopped me. He ran after that.’
‘Okay. Start from the beginning,’ Deacon said. ‘You had dirt on your hands because you were at the cabin yesterday. Did you find the bodies then?’
Stone closed his eyes. ‘Yes. I was here looking for Mickey. Mikhail.’ He swallowed hard as tears seeped from beneath his closed eyelids. ‘He was only seventeen.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Bishop said kindly. ‘He was your brother? Your mother’s son?’
‘And Jeremy’s. This is going to kill him. Mom . . . My God. I don’t know how to tell her.’
Deacon frowned. ‘I thought Jeremy and your mother had only one child together. Audrey.’
‘That’s what Mom wanted everyone to think. Mom and Jeremy were already divorced when Mickey was . . . made,’ he finished awkwardly. ‘It was apparently a last fling.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell us when we questioned you yesterday?’ Bishop asked coldly.
‘I thought about it. I decided not to. I was looking out for my family. I . . . fucked up.’
‘Y’think?’ Bishop asked furiously. ‘You have caused so much . . .’ She drew a breath, calmed her voice. ‘Okay. You were looking for your brother Mikhail? Why?’
‘Becaus
e he’d run away, because he found out that Jeremy was his bio dad. He wigged out. Disappeared. I decided to check the cabin ’cuz I’d looked everywhere else.’ New tears ran down his face. ‘I got there yesterday about three in the afternoon. The door was open and I saw an empty Monster energy drink can on the front porch. Kid chugs that shit, so I figured, yeah, he’s here. But he wasn’t. There was a pile of dirt on the floor, the bed was unmade. Somebody had made some stew, but they left the remnants in a pot on the stove. And the wheelbarrow was inside, next to the bed. I couldn’t figure out why the dirt was there and then I saw the loose floorboard. I had this . . . horrible feeling in my gut. Y’know?’
Deacon nodded. ‘We know too well. So you looked under the floor. Dug with your hands?’
‘Yeah. Shovel was gone. Turned out the woman had taken it.’ He winced, as if remembering the blows he’d taken to the head. ‘But I didn’t dig at first. I thought, maybe he’s out back. But the back wall was covered in dried blood. So was the gas tank. The gas was shut off. I think Mickey was lured out back to check the tank and then . . .’ The big man’s chest rose and shuddered as it fell. ‘I found him under the floor. There was a bullet hole in his head.’
‘What did you do?’ Bishop asked.
‘Freaked out. Drove home to tell Jeremy, but . . . you guys were there.’
‘And then you lied to us,’ Bishop said coldly.
‘No, no I did not,’ Stone said firmly. ‘I just didn’t tell you what you wanted to know.’
‘Why?’ Deacon asked. ‘Your brother was dead. Why not call 911 when you found him? Or ask for our help when you saw us at your house? I can’t understand this.’
Stone sighed. ‘Because my family’s fucked up, that’s why. My mother divorced my biological father when Marcus and I were kids because he cheated and was an all-around worthless piece of shit. She married Jeremy and everything was great. He adopted us and they had Audrey, and then they divorced because Jeremy was cheating with a man. She’d put him through med school and set him up in his practice, but he left her. I nearly tore him apart, but Mom stopped me. She knew all along that Jeremy was gay. She didn’t mind if he had lovers, as long as they weren’t female. She didn’t divorce him because he was cheating. She let him go because she wanted him to be happy.’