by Sue Coletta
“Actually, no. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You get caught, and both our asses are on the line.”
“Then why don’t you swing around the block a few times. That way you can honestly say you had no idea what I was doin’.”
“Who’s gonna watch your back? No way. I’m not leaving you alone. Too risky. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“I’ll be fine. Let’s do this. Kill the dome light.” After a quick kiss I exited the jeep, careful to nudge the door closed quietly enough not to arouse suspicion. Prowling around the side of the ranch-style home, I searched for a window left ajar. With the scorching temps lately, there’s bound to be one. Unless the house had AC. Even then, window units morphed into easy access points. The pad didn’t appear nice enough for central air. No condenser outside confirmed my theory.
Perfect.
I stalked into the backyard, and a spotlight blazed on. Flattened against the house, my heart beat out my chest. Not that I didn’t enjoy the rush of adrenaline, but now was not the time to dance with the devil. I needed to get inside unnoticed. Once the light died, I gave the screen a couple taps to the sides and it glided up the tracks like melted butterscotch over ice cream. One last glance in all directions and I climbed inside.
Antiseptic wafted in the air. Overpowering too, like I’d stepped off the elevator at a hospital rather than climbed through a bedroom window. Flashlight leveled, I scanned the room. A queen-sized bed, sheets crumpled at the footboard. Clothes strewn about the beige carpet.
I padded to the doorway. Would I meet someone coming down the hall? Why weren’t they in bed?
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d encountered a stranger in the dark, but after almost getting my head blown off by a tweaker and butchered by a serial killer, I kind of hoped it’d be the last.
I’d made it to the next door on the right when a low, guttural growl stopped me cold. Slowly, I rotated.
A Rottweiler bared his teeth, and all oxygen depleted from my lungs. The worst thing I could do was run. Being mauled and having my face ripped off wasn’t high on my to-do list. In the past I’ve brought steak pieces laced with mild sedatives. Not to harm the dogs, only to knock them out long enough for me to escape. Worked too. Sadly, tonight I had neither, and he obviously wouldn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into a juicy cat burglar.
“Nice doggie.”
Snarling, spit dripped off his canines.
“Who’s a good boy?” I said in an excited tone. “You’re a good boy, huh? Yeah.”
His stubby tail swished side to side. This dog was no killer. He’s a lovebug. Would he kill to protect his domain? Probably. Therein lied the rub.
“Wanna treat?” Dear God, let there be something in this house to appease him.
The Rottie trotted passed me, into the kitchen. In front of a spotless counter he sat on his haunches, eyes pinned on a cookie jar. I lifted the lid. The smell alone made his backend shimmer and shake.
When I raised the milk bone from the jar, a sloppy smile spread across his face, stubby tail wagging like a metronome on crack. “Here ya go, buddy.” Gently he gummed the treat from my gloved-hand, so I mused the fur on his blocky head. “You’re such a good boy.”
For insurance I stuffed a few extra bones in my pockets before searching the place for evidence to link Reaper to the string of murders.
Nothing inherently special struck me about the home. The living room décor might be well past its expiration date, but the entire home was neat and tidy. No dishes lying around. No empty glasses or overfilled ash trays. Other than the bedroom I entered first, everything had order.
I twisted the handle on the final door. When I swung it open, an invisible force walloped me in the heart, stopping it mid-beat. A hospital bed sat in the center of the room, a Paw Patrol comforter lounged across matching sheets and pillowcase, and multiple prescription bottles covered the side table. Beside the bed stood an IV rack, clear tubing dangling from a half-empty bag.
This, I never expected. Was I in the right house?
Cookie Monster snuck up behind me, and I nearly catapulted across the room. Once I managed to get ahold of what was left of my shredded nerves, I withdrew one of the milk bones from my pocket.
In anticipation, a long strip of drool leaked out the side of his mouth, his dark eyes pinned on the cookie. As I handed him the treat, I told him, “Go lay down like a good boy, and I might give you another.”
Well-trained, he trotted to a dog bed in the corner of the room, and I turned my attention to the pill bottles. The name on the label: Joshua Urban. Next to a desk lamp I found literature on polycystic kidney disease.
How did kidney disease relate to the murder spree? Or did one thing not relate to the other?
It wasn’t until I found the home computer that pieces of this twisted jigsaw puzzle began to fall into place. Folded under the keyboard was a newspaper article dated days before the first murder. The headline read, “Two dead in fatal car crash.”
Hacking the password, I found a mountain of evidence against Reaper, including his real name. Which, by the way, wasn’t a he at all. Her name was Ashley Urban. Thirty-three-years-old. Single mom. Two kids, one dead, the other battling an unmerciful health condition. No wonder she snapped. Ford recalled almost a half-million vehicles due to sticky gas pedals. The cruise control cables snagged on the plastic cover atop the engine and caused the gas pedals to stick wide-open. Course, it took two deaths, nine accidents, and multiple other near-misses for them to take action. Sadly, nine-year-old, Kyle Urban, and his nineteen-year-old babysitter, Mandy Lynch, lost their lives.
If Ashley Urban wanted retribution, why not kill the bigwigs at Ford? Why murder innocent people?
Chapter 17
10:30 p.m.
Ashley held her son’s hand as they prepped him for surgery. “It’ll be okay, honey. Mommy will be right here the whole time.” Trying to stay strong for her child, she fought back an avalanche of tears. “I love you so much.” She pressed her lips to his sweaty forehead. Pure emotion took over, and her chest heaved. Swallowing her devastation, she forced a warm smile as she swept Joshua’s golden hair to the side. The coloring in his face turned ashen days ago. The yellowing of his eyes had been that way for months. If they hadn’t found another donor in time, he could perish. Lost forever. An innocent soul taken way too soon.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby.”
“If I go to heaven, will I get to play with Kyle again?”
Thunderbolts of pain struck her chest, and she slumped forward. “You are not going to die. Understand me? You will be fine, better than fine, with a brand new kidney.”
“Not Kyle’s.”
“No, sweetheart. I told you. The fire after the accident ruined that for us. He wanted you to have it, though. Remember all the tests he went through to save you? He loved you so much.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Don’t be sad.”
“I’m not, honey. These are happy tears. After the transplant, you’ll be able to play like the other kids. And guess what? Next year, you’ll get to go to elementary school. Won’t that be exciting?”
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby.”
“We should probably get through the surgery first.”
She chuckled. “How’d you get so smart?”
“From you.”
Smiling inside and out, she tousled his hair. “And don’t you ever forget it.”
“I’m sleepy, Mommy.”
“Okay, baby. Close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.”
The nurse said, “We need to wheel him into surgery now.”
Reluctantly, she let go of the bed railing.
“He’s in good hands, Ms. Urban. We’ll take good care of him.”
“You better.” Sobbing, tears flooded her throat. “He’s all I have left.”
Chapter 18
10:40 p.m.
I jumped into
the passenger seat, and Levaughn startled. “We need to get to Children’s Hospital ASAP.”
“What? Why?”
“That’s where they are. I found a note by the phone. C’mon, we gotta hurry.”
“Who?”
“Ashley Urban. She’s Reaper.”
As Levaughn peeled out, I punched in the GPS: Hillman Center for Pediatric Transplantation at Children’s Hospital. “4401 Penn Ave. It’s eight miles from here. Step on it.”
“You need to call this in.”
“Once we get there, I will.”
“That’s not SOP, and you know it.”
“Nothin’ about this is normal. A sick kid’s mixed up in this somehow. I need to figure out what’s goin’ on before I involve the cops.”
“I am the cops, Shawnee. I swear, you forget that sometimes.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Is that why you don’t want to marry me?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t say yes, either.”
I flung up my hands. “Jesus, Levaughn. Do we really need to discuss this now?”
“I’m confused, is all. I thought we were building something beautiful.”
“We are. All I said was, ask me later.” I flashed my palm. “And not on the way to apprehend a serial killer, either. Do you really wanna think back on the day you proposed, and remember this bullshit?”
“You’ve got a point.”
“Thank you. Turn right here. The transplantation center should be at the end of this road.”
His face whipped toward me. “Transplantation center?”
“I don’t have time to explain. Pull over. We need to hurry and get in there.”
“Before we do, I’m calling Odin. He should be here.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you inside.” I got out and slammed the door, sprinted through the entrance, and then slowed. At the reception desk, I asked for Joshua Urban’s room. “I’m a friend of his mother,” I lied. “She shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”
“Aww…very sweet. Down this hall, the waiting room is the first door on your right.”
“Waiting room?”
“Yes. They’ve already taken Joshua into surgery.”
“Mind if I ask who the donor is?”
“Sorry, but we’re not allowed to give out that information.”
“Okay, thanks.” It took all my self-control not to run down the hall. Then it hit me. What do I say to her? How do you confront someone at a time like this, psychopath or no? Why, with a sick kid at home, would she waste time murdering men, women, and unborn children? As a mother, wouldn’t she relate to the very people she targeted?
Outside the waiting room, I wavered on what to do next. A crucial piece was still missing, and without it, I had no leverage to force a confession. Did I even want Ashley to confess? Who’d care for her child with her behind bars?
Nothing about this situation sat well with me. Leaning against the outside wall, I fluctuated between getting justice for the victims and my heartstrings tugged to the point of snapping.
Levaughn swaggered down the hall. “Are we too late?”
“No.” I jabbed my head sideways. “She’s inside.”
“Okay…so what’s the problem?”
“There’s something I haven’t told you.” I explained what I’d seen in the Urban home, as well as the massive amounts of evidence on her laptop. “It doesn’t make sense, though. What if someone set her up? Do we really wanna interrogate a distraught mother while her son is in surgery?”
“Unfortunately, it comes with the job. We go where the evidence leads us. I don’t see where we have a choice, unless you’d rather wait for local PD and Odin to handle it. Legally, it’s their responsibility, not ours.”
“Shit. Let’s feel her out first. If she’s innocent, we’ll tell Odin I screwed up.”
“You sure?”
“No, but what choice do we have?”
Levaughn held open the door while I strolled into the waiting room. A woman with pink hair, sleeved-tattoos, and piercings through her left eyebrow and bottom lip, cried alone in the corner chair.
Before outright accusing her, I tossed out her call sign. “Reaper.”
Shock registered on her face, and all doubt washed away like finger-paints left out in the rain. “Are you here to arrest me?”
“Do I look like a cop to you?”
With volcanic eyes, she shot to her feet. “You’re the one who almost killed my son.”
I pitched toward her, our noses almost touching. Arm cocked, ready to knock her teeth down her throat, I warned, “Watch where you throw those accusations, Reaper. You’re the only killer in this room.”
She backed away, and slumped into her chair. “What was I supposed to do? Ford killed my eldest child. If I didn’t act, my baby would’ve died too.”
“You lost me.”
“The day after the accident, Kyle was scheduled to donate a kidney to his brother. I should’ve never allowed Jessica to take him for ice cream. Normally I insist she babysit at home, but it was a special day, and I had to take Joshua for more pre-op testing.” She slammed her forehead again and again. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Because of my lack of judgement my son is dead.”
In front of her I knelt to one knee. “I read the newspaper article. Ford’s at fault, not you.”
Levaughn interrupted, “But you did murder almost a dozen people, not to mention what you did to me and Lolli McGarret.”
Hands held in prayer, she begged for absolution. “I’m so sorry. I was desperate.”
“Desperate for what, exactly?” I rose to my feet. “Don’t try to play the sick kid card, either.”
“What do you mean? Everything I did was for Joshua. I’ve never harmed anyone in my life before Ford stole the one chance to save my baby. Do you know how long it takes to find a donor match? Joshua didn’t have that kind of time.”
“You killed people for their kidneys?”
“That makes no sense,” said Levaughn. “Without blood and tissue typing you had no way of knowing whether or not they could even donate.”
“I did, though. Each and every one I carefully screened when they came to the clinic. You’d be surprised how few questions people ask during an office visit. They assume you’re running normal a blood panel. The tissue typing took a little more ingenuity on my part, but most of them cooperated.”
“So basically, the patients who allowed you to use them as guinea pigs, you used for your own selfish needs.”
“No. For Joshua. I don’t care what happens to me as long as he lives a long and happy life.”
“Technically,” said Levaughn, “the kidney was obtain illegally. By rights, it should go to the next person on the donor list.”
Off the edge of her chair she fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around Levaughn’s legs. “Please don’t punish him because of me. He’s innocent. I’m begging you, Detective, please don’t let my son die.”
He and I exchanged an ambiguous glance, and I shrugged. “She has a point.”
Right then, Odin soldiered through the door with five uniformed officers behind him.
Ashley released a heart-shattering shrill. “No. Please. No. Don’t let them stop the surgery. Please, I beg you. Please let my child survive.”
The fed had zero reaction. “Get up. Hands on your head. Nice and slow.”
I tried to reason with him. “Odin, do ya think you could look the other way till her son’s outta surgery?”
“Ms. Daniels, your job is done here. Thank you for your cooperation. You’re dismissed.”
“Bullshit. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“I heard the confession from outside the door. This ends now.” He turned back to one of the officers. “Inform the surgeon.”
Arms extended from frame to frame, I blocked the exit with my body. “I won’t let you do this. For crissakes, you’ve got five kids of your own. How can you be so heartless?”
“Step asid
e, Daniels. I won’t tell you twice.”
Levaughn moved in front of me. “You’ll have to get through me first. You’re not thinking clearly. A young child shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of his mother.”
“I don’t write the laws, Samuels. I enforce them. You of all people should understand why we cannot allow her child to benefit from her crimes.”
While Levaughn kept him busy, I slipped out the door to make a call away from prying ears. “Tex, it’s Shawnee. We’ve got a problem.”
I explained how I baited Reaper by using Lolli, how she was shaken but not gravely injured, how I tracked and ID’d the killer we’d been hunting, why the murders took place, and the situation at the hospital. For now, I left out the part about breaking into Ashley Urban’s house. Even though I doubted he’d rat me, why take the chance?
I rubbed my sweaty palm on my jeans and readjusted my grip on the cell. “Do you know anyone who can execute some sort of protection order to stop Odin from interfering with Joshua’s surgery? No matter what the kid’s mother did, he’ll die without that donor kidney.”
“Agreed. Let me see what I can do. Can you buy me some time?”
“Absolutely, but the quicker the better.”
“I’ll be back in touch the minute I know something.”
A dial tone hummed in my ear.
In the hall I paced back and forth outside the waiting room. Inside, Levaughn and Odin went round and round, raising their voices with conviction, both determined to force the other to change their mind.
Within minutes Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know” blasted from my cell. After checking the caller ID, I answered, “Wow. That was fast.”
“Pass the phone to Odin, please.” By tone alone, I couldn’t tell if Tex had good news or bad.
“Sure thing.” I slipped through the door, squeezed between Levaughn and Odin, and teed my hands. “Call for you.”
“Why would someone call me on your number?”
“Just take it.”
The fed raised my iPhone to his ear, and I scrawled a mental note to sanitize it later. “Special Agent Barrett.” For at least five full minutes he paused, listening. “Yes, sir.” When he handed me the phone he said, “Care to explain how you did that?”