“Okay...” He didn’t know what to say that would make things better.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to need a response from him. Shaking her head as if to reset her emotions, she linked her arm with his. Even through the barrier of his shirtsleeves, he was keenly aware of her fingers resting on his forearm. “Now that that’s off my chest, let’s go get some pizza.”
* * *
Sara patted herself on the back. She’d survived lunch with Holt without dying of embarrassment, even managing to eat a few bites. She’d dared to open up to him in the gym, and she had to admit, she felt better now that the past was off her chest.
Now the ball was in Holt’s court, not that she expected him to lob it back to her. They’d probably go back to business as usual—which meant no business at all, unless it was school or Toxin business.
A knock sounded on her office door. “Come in.” She hid her surprise when Neil Rochard poked his head, with its fashionably shaggy mop of dark hair, through her doorway.
“You busy, Miss Sara?”
“I have time. Have a seat.”
He closed the door behind him and dropped into a chair. But his casual slouch didn’t match the way his glance darted around her office or the up-and-down bouncing of his knee. Something was bugging the kid and, with teen boys, she often found direct honesty was the best policy. “I have to say, I’m glad you came by. Surprised, but glad.”
“Yeah, well...” The tempo of his knee-bobbing increased. He nibbled on a thumbnail. Sara waited patiently. He’d come this far. He’d talk when he was ready. “I thought that seminar today was good. Really good.”
“Oh?” Of all the things she’d thought he’d come to talk about, this was last on the list.
“I’m glad someone finally talked about it—bullies and bad people—how to stand up to them, fight back.”
“So many people don’t know they have power until they choose to stand strong.” At her words, his leg stilled and his hand dropped to his thigh. His gaze met hers, then flitted away.
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here.”
“Are you being bullied?” She hadn’t heard anything about it. In fact, as one of the most popular kids in school—a football player from a wealthy family who could be handsome and charming when he chose to be—she’d be downright shocked if someone had targeted Neil.
“No, but I know bullies.”
“Are you here because you’re worried about someone?”
“Sort of.”
“And this someone doesn’t want to step forward on his own?” It was like dropping breadcrumbs to lead him into a conversation.
“They don’t have anyone to stand up for them.”
“That’s sad. You want to share who it is? Maybe I can help.”
Neil looked her directly in the eye. “It’s you.”
“Me?”
“I know my dad hasn’t been nice to you. I’m not blind. And I overheard him talking to someone about you. I think he was trying to get you fired, saying you’re incompetent.”
Sara strove for diplomacy. “Sometimes people don’t say nice things, but it doesn’t always make those things true.”
“I know. And I wasn’t sure what to believe for a while. My dad’s pretty smart about most things. But...I’ve decided he’s wrong about you. You’re okay.”
Was there any more glowing recommendation from a teenager? “Well, thanks. I’m glad you can form your own opinion. And I’m glad you felt you could come talk to me.”
“I didn’t want you thinking I was like my dad.”
Oh, no, she’d never think that. John Rochard was in a class all by himself. “Neil, when I look at you, I don’t see your dad at all. I see a young man who’s going through some normal growing pains, ready to get out there and take on the world. There may be some things in your life you’re learning to deal with, but I have every confidence you’ll get where you need to be when you’re supposed to be there.”
The knee-bobbing resumed. It was a tell—a hint that he was dealing with some emotion deep brewing inside. “You heard about my parents’ divorce?”
“Yes. Is that what’s got you doing things like stealing beer?”
He winced. “I don’t know. I won’t do that again, though. I promise.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“Did you ever take the SATs, Miss Sara?”
“Yes, they had those back in the Dark Ages.”
He grinned. It transformed his face and she had a glimpse of the handsome young man he was becoming. “How’d you score?”
“Above average, but not as high as some people.”
“And you survived.”
“Yes, I did. I am a fairly well-adjusted person who even contributes to society now and then.”
He snorted. “My dad needs me to get close to a 2400 to get into Harvard.”
“What do you need? Or, more importantly, what do you want?”
“I don’t want to go to Harvard. I don’t want to be a lawyer like him, who works on people’s lame lawsuits all day.” His tone had turned fierce. “I’m not sure what I do want, though.”
“Have you tried talking to the school counselor?”
“I don’t need a shrink.”
“He’s not that kind of counselor. He’s good at helping people find what direction they want to go. Otherwise, they’re just spinning their wheels, wasting time and energy. Life’s too short for that.”
Neil would have a hell of a time with his dad if he chose any other path, but she didn’t want to mention the stumbling blocks. He was on the verge of exciting things. She was proud of him for acknowledging what it would take to deviate from his dad’s plans, and evaluating the pros and cons on his own.
Neil stood. “Thanks, Miss Sara.”
“You’re welcome. Come see me anytime, especially if you need help.” Talking to your dad, she wanted to add. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and, with a brief nod, was gone.
It seemed she hadn’t been the only one carrying around a burden she’d had to get off her chest. She wondered if Holt was feeling as stunned as she was right now.
* * *
The Evanston Police Department served the Academy and everything within a several-mile radius. Holt’s father had worked here for decades, and stopped by his old stomping grounds to hear Holt’s profile of Toxin.
“The killer known as Toxin killed four people over the past nine months. Based on his identification with me in his latest note and certain aspects of the crime scene, he’s in his mid-thirties, Caucasian and college-educated. We haven’t found the connection between him and the victims yet. He’s most likely a successful businessman, and most definitely likes to be in control.”
“A puppet master,” his father added. “He likes to run the show.”
“Yes, that’s an apt description. He even named himself Toxin. We’re still trying to trace the chemicals found in the victims’ systems, though we think he may be using a lab in south Chicago. That he uses a neurotoxin is telling.”
A hand went up and Holt acknowledged the officer. “So we should look particularly close at people who have a science background, or people with interests in poisons?”
“That’s possible. Detective Noah Crandall has been investigating that angle, particularly by questioning employees of chemical companies in Chicago as well as professors, researchers, etc. We’re also keeping an eye on suspected drug dealers and their sources. If you run across someone suspicious, give Noah or me a call.”
“What about the note on the most recent victim?”
“The fact that Toxin focused on me, and my association with a female here in the area, Sara Burns, indicates he is in an unhappy relationship with someone, or has recently lost a relationship he valued.”
“Hard to believe someone like him cares about anyone,” one guy muttered, loud enough for the room to hear.
“He cares enough to take lives,” Holt’s father said.
Holt felt his father’s frustration. “He’s clearly expressing a sense of entitlement, but quite possibly due to the loss of an important person in his life as well.” Holt knew all too well what a loss could do to a person’s perception of the world. “While he’s intelligent and sane enough to restrain his impulse to kill for long periods of time, to make plans, and to fit into society, he’s acting out of misguided notions of heroism.”
“So watch out for a man in a superhero cape?”
“I only wish it were that easy.”
The men chuckled but quickly sobered. Laughter was welcome in lightening the mood, but everyone knew what was at stake. Innocent lives.
* * *
“I don’t have that kind of money.” The lie fell easily from Toxin’s lips because Brady Flaherty was an asshole and a lazy SOB. Apparently, he was also a desperate SOB if he was reaching this far out on the family tree, hitting him, of all people—a guy who was barely even a leaf on a branch of that tree anymore—up for money.
“I’ll pay you back,” Brady insisted. “I’m good for it.”
Yeah, right. The guy was no good to anyone except as a hired gun. Yet...maybe there was a way Brady could pay him back. A plan began to form, one that would get both Brady and Dr. Holt Patterson off his back...and then he could focus on his new plan of taking over Patterson’s life. The unfortunate side effect of his latest kill had been giving Patterson more insight into Toxin’s life. Now Patterson was interviewing Buzz’s family...which could, though unlikely, lead to him.
Buzz. Toxin felt a rush of power remembering the kill. He’d been patient, waiting months to make his move, because this one was personal. But when it was right, he’d struck quickly. At least he’d still had time to enjoy the recognition and the surrender in Buzz’s eyes. The guy had always thought Toxin was weak and amoral. In the end, Buzz had acknowledged who was right and who was wrong. The old battleax wouldn’t be passing judgment again anytime soon. Not ever, in fact.
“Sorry, Brady.” Toxin interrupted the guy’s list of reasons why he needed the money. “No can do. Maybe try getting a real job and contributing to society for a change?”
Brady cursed at him and hung up. Toxin grinned. Brady had just given him the perfect out. One call to his ex-girlfriend Gloria and the wheels would be in motion. And Patterson would be off his trail for a while—long enough for Toxin to set up the next phase of his plan. As for Brady, the stupid SOB wouldn’t know what hit him.
Chapter Eleven
October
“This is the place,” Noah said as Holt joined him on the sidewalk outside an apartment building.
“And you’re certain this Brady Flaherty is our guy?” Holt asked.
“Following your recommendation, we closely investigated Leonard Redding’s family.”
Because Toxin had referred to his victim as Buzz in the note, which indicated a certain level of familiarity, Holt had told Noah to pay special attention to the people closest to Redding. “And someone talked?”
“The victim’s daughter Gloria said that Buzz is a nickname her father earned in the military. His family began calling him by that name years ago, but most people outside of the family would call him Leonard. When I hinted that a family member might be involved, she mentioned that one of her cousins could be a suspect. Brady Flaherty. According to her, Buzz refused to loan Brady money just days before his murder. I’ve got a warrant to search the premises, based on the guy’s record and Gloria’s suspicions. The landlord says Brady is likely at the gym. He sticks to his afternoon workout schedule as if it were his religion.”
Noah mounted the stairs leading to a door that looked like all the others. The landlord stood waiting for them with keys in hand. He let them in and left. Noah scanned the living room and kitchen area, then strode to the doorway that had to lead to the bedroom. He disappeared inside but quickly returned.
“He’s not here,” Noah said. “We should have a good half hour or so until he returns.”
The furnishings were sparse, a sagging couch that had seen better days, a nicked-up coffee table, and a single barstool by the kitchen counter. A couple of empty liquor bottles and dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink. “You said Brady has a record?”
Noah donned latex gloves and started picking through drawers. “Assault and battery. Armed robbery. Typical thug stuff.”
His record could explain the lack of personal touches and furniture, especially if Brady was still engaged in criminal behavior and anticipated the possibility of future jail time. It also fit Toxin’s MO. The killer never left a trace of anything personal at the crime scenes. But would Toxin be so sloppy as to leave clues that would lead them right to his door? “What did you think about Gloria? Do you believe her?”
“I’m no psychologist, but I’d say she’s depressed. Or maybe she’s just in shock at the loss of her father.”
“Is Brady linked to the Academy at all?” To Sara?
“I haven’t had time to dig deep enough, but I’m sure we’ll find the connections. Anything on the repeat background checks from the Academy?”
Damian had agreed with Holt that they should cover any possibility, including using SSAM resources to re-examine the backgrounds of the teachers and support staff at the school. “So far, no red flags other than one who had a misdemeanor for smoking weed in college. She’s sixty now, though, and has taught there for decades. And she’s female. I don’t recall seeing Brady Flaherty on the list.”
Noah grunted. “If he’d been associated with the school, it would have been under an alias. Otherwise, his criminal record would have prevented him from getting hired.” He closed the last kitchen cupboard. “There’s nothing unusual out here. Let’s try the backrooms.”
Holt followed Noah into the single bedroom. Another door led to the bathroom. “I’ll start here.” It didn’t take long. In the cabinet under the sink, a box of hypodermic needles, alongside a bottle of something Holt suspected was the chemical cocktail injected into Toxin’s victims, was tucked behind a couple rolls of toilet paper. “Noah, I’ve got something.”
But the sound of the front door opening, followed by the scratch of keys as they slid across a flat surface kept Noah from observing the find. Brady was home.
Noah jerked his head toward the door and withdrew his gun. Holt nodded and followed as Noah moved into the living room. “Police! Put your hands where I can see them.”
Brady was still taking his jacket off by the open front door. He bolted.
“Shit.” Noah cursed and they took off at a run.
The hours spent in the gym paid off as Brady took the stairs two at a time and raced to his motorcycle. He didn’t bother snatching his helmet off the back, but reached in his pocket for his keys—the keys Holt had heard sliding across the table where Brady had thoughtlessly tossed them. Caught in the sights of Noah’s pistol with no way to escape, the man put his hands in the air.
* * *
Three hours later, Holt told himself repeatedly that he was not driving to the Academy to drink in Sara with his own eyes. He told himself he hadn’t missed seeing her or hearing her voice these past couple weeks. It was simply a courtesy to tell her in person about arresting Toxin, since it impacted her life too. Besides, visiting Sara would allow him to tell Becca her job at the Academy was done and she could move on to other cases.
When Holt left the station, Brady was still giving them the silent treatment, refusing to speak a word until his lawyer got there. But the incriminating evidence had been under the sink where Holt had seen it.
Exhilaration filled him. He’d finally apprehended a killer who’d eluded him for months. Holt wanted to share that feeling w
ith someone. The first someone who’d come to mind was Sara.
He practically raced up the steps to her apartment. His knock was answered almost immediately, and Sara stood there in yoga pants and a T-shirt. His breath caught in his chest, but he managed a syllable. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Sara said, her eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn’t thought to call first, thinking of nothing but getting to her as soon as possible.
Becca, who’d been staying on Sara’s couch most nights as added protection, came up behind Sara. “Is there news?”
“Good news,” Holt told her.
Sara moved aside and waved him in. “Well?”
He grinned. He hadn’t felt this good in ages. “We caught him.”
Becca’s jaw dropped. “Toxin?”
“That’s fantastic!” Sara caught him up in a spontaneous hug, her breasts pressing against his chest, and desire flared up within him. She stiffened against him and began to pull away, as if remembering her resolution to leave him alone.
Not wanting the contact to end, he brought his arms around her. His body ached with physical want. When had he last been hugged? Something inside him, like the pulling of a drawstring, brought a sense of closure. He was sorry when he had to let go, but Becca was standing there, watching them with interest.
“So, who is he?” Sara asked. The huskiness in her voice indicated she had been affected by their embrace too.
“Brady Flaherty. The latest victim’s nephew. Found evidence of the neurotoxin in Brady’s apartment after Buzz’s daughter pointed us in his direction.”
Becca’s brow knitted. “But why would he kill those other people?”
“While we were processing him at the station, Einstein continued to dig for connections. He found Brady used to work for the first victim. He was a night janitor at Tech Innovations where Joseph Kurtz was CEO, but only for a few months before he was fired. In Brady’s apartment, there was a matchbook from the bar where Dr. Brown was murdered. And on his hard drive was a hate letter addressed to Senator Beechum. So far, Brady’s not talking to police. He probably knows that the moment I hear his voice, I’ll know he’s Toxin.”
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