“They do not!” Mrs. Ash shouted, slamming her fist on the table. The motion bounced Nicole’s phone nearly off the edge. She caught it just in time.
“Mrs. Ash,” her lawyer tried to soothe. “The detective is just trying to bait you. Don’t rise to it.”
The woman took in a deep breath and smoothed her blouse. “Of course.”
“You shared a wall, didn’t you? Could you hear your husband as he made love to Megan? Coursing his hands over her curves?”
Nicole pressed on.
“Could you hear her moans of ecstasy?” Kent asked.
Nicole stopped short on that one. Not willing to sully Megan’s memory quite so much.
“My dear, we have got to go there. We’ve got to dig deeply into this woman’s jealousy to override her desire to protect herself and her family.”
“Could you hear her moans of ecstasy?” Nicole asked.
Again, the woman’s face blotched, and the vein at her temple throbbed, pounding against the skin. So Nicole didn’t hesitate to repeat Kent’s next question.
“Could you hear her orgasm over and over again?”
“That whore!” Mrs. Ash shouted, coming out of her chair at Nicole. Only her lawyer’s quick grab saved Nicole from a punch to the face.
“Ah, you have to love the crazies. Once you hit their leverage point, they can’t keep the crazy in,” Kent chuckled in Nicole’s ear.
“After everything I did for her,” Mrs. Ash sobbed, “She still took him away.”
“What do you mean everything you did for her?” Nicole asked.
But the woman crumpled into a chair. “And now she was sullying herself with that biology boy?”
“So you knew about Deacon?” Nicole asked.
“It was only a matter of time before it came out about Megan and Roger. And then our family would be ruined by that little whore.”
“So you poisoned her?” Nicole asked over the lawyer’s protests for Mrs. Ash to shut the hell up.
“What else could I do?” Mrs. Ash said, her eyes brimming with tears. “She’d betrayed me. Betrayed us all.”
Nicole’s phone vibrated again. This time it was a text from Joshua.
“Mr. Ash is not packing the family jewels. I repeat, he has no cojones.”
Nicole had to read the text several times to understand what he meant. She sent it to Kent, who seemed to get it right away. “No testicles?”
She texted quickly back to Joshua. “Are they undescended?”
His response was lightning fast. “No, man. He’s got the basket, just no eggs in it.”
“Oh my,” Kent said. “Her crazy runs deeper than even I suspected. You’ve got to give her credit, though. The woman doesn’t just talk the talk, she walks the walk.”
Kent’s admiration of Mrs. Ash was not helping anything, though.
“When you said ‘you’d done everything,’ Mrs. Ash, did that include castrating your husband?”
Mrs. Ash looked up, and for the first time seemed clear-eyed. Present. Connected with reality. “I found out years ago. Like you said, we shared a wall. I insisted he stop, but he wouldn’t. Even tried to sedate me at night so he could carry on his dirty work. Well I showed him.”
Nicole gulped, imagining what was coming next. The woman was an RN, after all.
“So I skimmed some Propofol from the hospital and did what I had to.”
“You thought neutering him would stop the abuse?”
Mrs. Ash nodded. “But Megan must have been asking for it. The whore took my husband away. The whore ruined our family.”
How the woman got from her daughter being abused to it being Megan’s fault was the leap of an unstable mind.
“So you admit to surgically castrating your husband and murdering your daughter?”
“Yeah, she’s going to have to give back all of her best wife or mother coffee cups,” Kent said.
Mrs. Ash slowly nodded. “What else could I do?”
The woman actually seemed to believe that she was the victim in all of this.
“Okay, well, this has been fun, but it looks like the insurgents are at it again,” Kent said. “See you soon.”
The click of the disconnect sounded loudly in Nicole’s ear. Somehow, this victory felt a little less bright without Kent to share in it.
Nicole had a job to do, though. She couldn’t mope over Kent.
She rose from her chair. “Mrs. Ash, you are under arrest for the murder of Megan Ash.” Nicole got out her cuffs. “You have the right to remain silent…”
* * *
Ruben opened the door as Nicole escorted Mrs. Ash out of the room, finishing up her Miranda rights. Glick moved out of the way as they passed.
“If you book her now,” the captain said, “we should be able to arraign her this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Glick turned back to Ruben. “That was quite the feat your partner just pulled off.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure if she can claim it for her own.”
Glick’s eyebrow went up.
“I think she got a call from Kent…”
“Ah,” Glick said. “While we may hate the man, we must respect the profiler.”
“Must we?” Ruben challenged. He resented that fact that even his captain deferred to Kent. “That tactic could have completely backfired.”
“But it didn’t,” Glick said. “Just like it never does.”
What was worse was that the captain was right. Which only proved to Ruben how disturbed the profiler really was. How could you think that much like a psychopath and not be one yourself?
“And just in case you were worried, the boys are fine.”
“What do you mean?” Ruben asked.
“I mean,” Glick said, indicating to his groin, “They’re fine. Mom hadn’t gotten around to them yet.”
“Well, there’s a silver lining, then.” Not much of one, of course. The boys were going to have to live with the fact that their father was a sex offender and their mother was a murderer. Having their testes was probably going to be only a small comfort.
“When is Harbinger due back?” Glick asked.
“Only God knows,” Ruben answered, hoping the date was far, far off.
* * *
Nicole got into her Mustang and put the key in the ignition but stopped, leaning back into the leather seat. It had been a long day, but a good one. They’d gotten a molester and a killer off the streets. That had to go down as a win in anyone’s book.
But damn, the case had wiped her out. It was hard to know that people like that not only existed, but couldn’t be picked out of a lineup of normal people. How long had both Mr. and Mrs. Ash kept their secrets? Decades? They had gone to PTA meetings and bake sales, no one knowing the horror going on under their roof.
“Need a shower to wash it all off?” a voice from the backseat asked.
Nicole twisted around. “Kent!”
Instead of her eyes going to his chiseled features, she was drawn to a long and ragged cut that went all the way across his neck. The wound was stitched together, however its edges were still swollen, and the wound oozed. The injury had happened less than twelve hours ago.
“What happened?”
Kent shrugged. “A little disagreement with some locals. You know how it goes.”
No, no, Nicole didn’t. It looked like the wound was meant to take his head off.
“What’s a little decapitation between friends?” Kent said, confirming her fear.
“You should be in the hospital,” Nicole said.
“Naw. I missed my girl,” he said.
If anyone else in the world had called her “girl”, Nicole would have punched them. However, the profiler with the ragged wound could get away with it.
“I missed you, too.”
“Yes,” Kent said, slipping back into his arrogant demeanor. “I could tell from all the texts. I certainly hope that you have an unlimited plan.”
So that was it. Their reunion after mont
hs apart.
Nicole turned the key in the ignition and enjoyed the roar of the engine.
Time to get them both home and into the shower.
WALLFLOWER – The full length sequel to Plain Jane
CHAPTER 1
The knife sliced the air, barely missing Kent’s chin. Okay, maybe
that time he’d let the killer get a tad too close. As the man stumbled and missed,
Kent took the opportunity to take a step back, keeping himself just out of slicing range.
“You think you’re so good,” the killer challenged.
“No,” Kent corrected. “I am that good.”
The young man with his slicked-back hair was all arrogance and pomp. Just because he had a knife and Kent didn’t. As long as Kent had his tongue, he always had a lethal weapon.
They were in an abandoned warehouse. But didn’t confrontations with serial killers usually end up in these dank settings? Seldom did one track a twisted murderer to a lakeside estate or amusement park. From the looks of it, this warehouse used to store paper towels, or some such sundry. It had long since been out of use, though. Dust was layered on five-ply.
“You’re the one working so very hard to prove yourself,” Kent stated.
That got a flare of the nostrils.
“You are like a mini serial killer. The Diet Coke of murderers,” Kent went on. “Waa…Waa…Waa all the way home.”
The killer took another poorly-timed swing at Kent. This time, he danced out of the way easily.
“You couldn’t stop me, though,” the murderer challenged. “I killed six before you found me.”
“I’m sorry, was that supposed to make me feel insecure?” Kent scoffed. “Remember, I wrote the book on modern profiling. It isn’t uncommon for a serialist to kill dozens before being identified.”
“Because we’re so smart,” the guy insisted.
“No,” Kent corrected, “It’s usually because you are killing hookers or other high-risk individuals. Those that the cops don’t investigate too eagerly. So, basically, you’re just an opportunist, taking the low-hanging fruit.”
Oh, that got a nice flush to the cheeks.
The guy swung again, even more off the mark than the last time. Adrenaline was great in a fight, unless you had too much of it. Then it just messed with your reflexes, making you too jumpy, too eager.
Kent regulated his breathing, making sure the adrenaline was working for him, rather than against.
“You’re so young,” Kent pressed. “You think you can play with the big boys?”
The killer wiped his brows with his sleeve. “I’ll be known as the guy who took down the famed Kent Harbinger, FBI profiler extraordinaire.”
“Oh, my. You are shooting for the moon here,” Kent said. “And you think you can do that with just a knife?”
“Where’s that backup you said was coming?” the killer asked.
“On its way,” Kent answered.
“No, it isn’t,” the killer stated.
“Eventually,” Kent said as he shrugged. You never wanted to flat-out lie to a subject, they could always tell. At some point, the police would find their location. In time for them to intervene here? Kent seriously doubted it.
The killer seemed to puff up at the thought.
“You do realize my capture rate, right?” Kent asked.
“The highest in the country,” the killer replied, as if he got off on taking on the best.
“And my conviction rate?”
The guy cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
Kent took a step to the right. The killer was a righty. He needed to get in position for the takedown, which meant staying out of the guy’s wheelhouse.
“I mean, out of how many serial killers I’ve caught, how many were convicted and sent to jail?”
Again, the killer seemed a tad confused. “I don’t know.”
“Zero,” Kent said. “You want to know why?”
The killer’s silence told him that he did.
“Because, typically, I usually end up in a situation such as this, and the killer ends up dead. Self-defense and all,” Kent said, then pressed. “Because once I get that knife away from you, I’m going to flay your skin off. With you awake, nice and slow.
“You wouldn’t,” the killer hissed.
“I brought ear plugs and everything,” Kent explained, taking a set out of his pocket.
“Doesn’t that make you a murderer, too?”
Kent shrugged. “Tomato, tomahto.”
“How exactly are you going to claim self-defense? If you skin me?” the killer demanded.
“Oh, you’d be surprised the latitude I am given when going up against a sick pervert like you.”
That statement really got under the guy’s skin, so to speak. The killer lunged, opening up his left side. Kent sprang into action, knocking the guy’s right arm up and out of harm’s way. A knife couldn’t do much damage if it were dangling there in the air. Kent used the heel of his hand and slammed it into the guy’s solar plexus.
A loud grunt was his reward, but Kent didn’t stop there. Instead, he brought his elbow up and caught the guy under the chin. The killer’s head snapped back with a crack. Reversing his movement, Kent brought his elbow back down into the side of the killer’s head.
The guy reeled away, tripping over a box. In the act of catching himself, the killer released the knife, and the blade skidded under a packing crate. Now, not having to worry about the knife, Kent went at the killer with gusto. He used a right hook to shove the kid back even farther. A left uppercut sent the guy sprawling onto the cement floor.
The killer put his arms up in front of his face. “No, please.”
On no, he didn’t get off that easily. It truly was amazing how sissy these stone cold killers got once they were unarmed. Like he said. Waa...waa…. Kent hauled the killer up by the collar and put his arm against the guy’s neck, squeezing off not only his trachea, but his jugular, as well. The killer’s face puffed up, turning an unseemly shade of purple.
“No!” Nicole screamed from behind him.
He ignored her. This guy needed to be taught a lesson.
* * *
“Kent!” Nicole shouted, rushing over. “Stop it!”
Of course, the profiler didn’t listen to her. But when did he?
This was a “Psychology of Hand-to-Hand Combat” training exercise that had gone seriously off the tracks. There were half a dozen academy recruits behind her. Not one had moved. They all stood there slack-jawed, staring at the profiler who had his protégé by the neck.
A few years ago, she would have been here standing there with a sick fascination. However, she was used to Kent, and how immersed he became in whatever task he was involved in. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard. Perhaps the physical contact would help him come back to reality.
Right now, Kent wasn’t suffocating a serial killer, but his own protégé, who was only playing the role of a serial killer. A young, up-and-coming FBI agent the Bureau had sent to Kent for training. Which wouldn’t do a lot of good if the kid ended up dead.
“Kent, let him go,” she demanded, pulling on his shoulder.
He didn’t let up. Nicole wasn’t surprised. The mentor and protégé had not really bonded. Yvent was not the easiest guy to get along with, and his constant challenging of Kent’s methodology? Even Nicole had felt like strangling the punk a few times. However, certainly not in front of a class full of new recruits.
“Kent, he gets it,” Nicole hissed in the profiler’s ear. “You win.”
Finally, Kent let up, and Yvent took in a wheezing breath. His face was still blotchy, and an unnatural reddish purple.
Like a switch flicking back on, Kent smiled, released the younger man and turned to the group.
“And that’s how you disarm a man with a knife.”
CHAPTER 2
Ruben reluctantly walked into the warehouse. He knew Kent was here, but he really needed to speak with Nic
ole. And this was one of those things that needed to be discussed in person.
“So what would you say of my technique?” Kent asked the group of completely mesmerized recruits.
“Wicked,” said one.
Ruben held in a deep sigh. Just another group of impressionable young law enforcement professionals swayed by Kent’s charm. None of them seemed to see or care that a young man was sitting on the ground choking and wheezing. Nicole was rubbing his back, trying to get him to breathe normally.
What had Kent done this time?
Ruben definitely did not want to know.
This was supposed to be a routine, “how to disarm a man with a knife” type of demonstration, one that was given all around the country every day. It normally took about ten minutes and was over with. Kent, of course, had turned it into a traveling circus, and had the recruits somehow worshipping at his feet.
“Yes,” Kent said, bowing his head. “It was wicked. But what made it wicked?”
Ruben ignored the gushing of compliments that followed. He’d heard them all before. How brilliant Kent was. How intuitive the profiler was. How infallible.
After a while, make that a day, it got old.
Ruben bypassed the profiler savant and headed over to Nicole.
She was helping Kent’s protégé up to his feet. “Yvent, Just take a few deep breaths,” she encouraged.
The guy looked like he was going to live. However, you could already tell that his neck was going to bruise. Badly. What the hell was Kent thinking? No, never mind, Kent was never thinking about anyone else but himself, so this was all quite predictable.
“Detective Usher,” Ruben said, as he stepped next to Nicole.
She turned around, seeming surprised to see him. Usually, he tried not to come within a mile of the profiler.
“Ruben, hi.”
“Detective Torres,” the young profiler said, extending his hand even as Yvent rubbed his bruised throat with the other.
Ruben had to admit a certain fascination with Yvent. He was almost a window into Kent at a young age. Although Ruben seriously doubted the vaunted profiler would have had his ass kicked so thoroughly, no matter his age.
“We have a new case,” Ruben said to Nicole. “Captain wants us at the crime scene ASAP.”
The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection) Page 36