The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  “I was thinking home,” Kent responded. Nicole almost missed another left.

  “Home? Lucky 37 is going to strike again tonight and you want to go home for a nap?”

  “Well, I was thinking of the bed but not to sleep.”

  Nicole could feel her cheeks blush even though she tried to make them stop. Ever since the wedding they had been on quite the roll. “Really in the middle of an investigation you want to go home for a quickie?”

  “Sure,” Kent said. “Why not? I need to do something to take my mind off the case so that my subconscious can do its thing.”

  “And I’m supposed to just go along with this?”

  Kent shrugged again. “It’s either a quickie or we go to a video arcade for a few hours.”

  Ugh. Nicole would rather have serial killer inspired sex, thank you very much.

  CHAPTER 2

  Kent unlocked the door with his wrist turned backwards. Nicole was in his other arm and let’s just say he had brought her around to the whole idea of heading home.

  He fumbled a few times, but finally got the key in the lock and swung the door open. Entangled, they stumbled into the house. Nicole was heading for the couch, but for what Kent had in mind they were going to need the bed.

  He scooped her up in his arms and headed up the stairs. Nicole was busy unbuttoning his shirt when they finally got to the bedroom.

  Kent tossed her on the bed, leaping after her. She laughed as she rolled on top of him. So much better than the post-mini-golf-pissed-off-Nicole. Although seeing her so passionate was what gave him this idea in the first place.

  She had her shirt and slacks off in a split second. His wife was straddling him in her underwear, rocking back and forth as she unbuttoned his pants.

  Suddenly panic replaced passion.

  “Stop,” Kent said grabbing her wrists.

  “What, I thought --”

  He put a finger up to his lips. Carefully she swung her leg over his, letting him up.

  “Is it Yvent again?” Nicole whispered.

  Kent shook his head. His protégé was still in Israel. Their visitor was much more malignant.

  “Can’t you smell that?”

  Nicole sniffed, curling up her nose. “What?”

  “Brut aftershave.”

  She inhaled again but shook her head.

  “He’s been here,” Kent said.

  “He?”

  “He.”

  Nicole’s cheeks went pale as her pupils dilated. “Lucky 37?” she said in horror.

  Nothing like a serial killer in your bedroom to kill the mood.

  Kent stood and walked the room very carefully. Everything seemed normal until he got to the dresser. There lay a red rose with a note underneath of it.

  Nicole scrambled to get her clothes back on. “What does it say?”

  “Tonight.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Kent sniffed the paper. Brut aftershave all right. He’d smelled it on all of their victims, but now it was confirmed, Lucky 37 was a Brut man. No great surprise there. “I think it means our little détente ends this evening.”

  * * *

  Ruben tried not to act surprised when Nicole and Kent came back into the station. From Nicole’s mussed hair and improperly buttoned shirt, he could guess what the two of them were up to.

  He nodded to Nicole’s waist. She looked down and obviously realized what the problem was as she rapidly re-buttoned her shirt and tucked it in.

  “An eventful lunch then?” Ruben asked. It was bad enough she had rejected him for Kent, but to flaunt it like this?

  “Yah,” Kent said. “Lucky 37 left us a note in our bedroom. Tonight.”

  “He was at your house?” Ruben demanded of Nicole. “We’ve got to move you to a safe house.”

  “Whoa,” Nicole said. “Let’s all just take a moment before we go off the deep end.”

  Ruben turned to Glick as the captain walked into the bullpen. “Glick, Lucky 37 made a direct threat against Kent and Nicole.”

  “What?” Glick asked as Kent handed him the note. “Tonight?” What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly,” Kent said. “It was clearly meant for me,” he explained to the captain then turned to Ruben. “And lord knows you don’t care about my safety, but thanks for thinking of me.”

  Ruben didn’t bother to retort. Kent had won this round, he just needed to let it go. Maybe Paggie was right. Ignoring Kent might be the best revenge after all.

  Luckily Ruben was spared any more small talk as Jimmi burst into the room.

  “Has no one gotten my texts?” the tech demanded.

  Ruben snapped his phone off his belt. “No, I’ve got nothing.”

  Murmurs from the others confirmed that fact that none of them had received texts.

  “Oh, crap, I must have run out of minutes,” Jimmi said, “No worries, though, maybe it’s better that we do this in person.”

  “What do you have?” Kent asked as Jimmi went over to Nicole’s computer.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, are you going to love this!” Jimmi announced as he brought up a report onto the big screen.

  “You know how you told me to look for similar, but early, raw murders?” Jimmi asked.

  “Since I told you it like an hour ago, yes,” Kent responded.

  “Well, I found two rapes that match our criteria. I’ve already called evidence to get the DNA rolling, they were so long ago they didn’t have DNA available back then, but they did do some vaginal swabs.”

  “Rapes?” Kent asked, “Not murders?”

  Crap, Ruben hadn’t even noticed the difference in Jimmi’s statement.

  “That is why you are going to love me way more than you have ever cared about Joshua,” Jimmi said. “Because yes, the first woman died, but the second survived and guess what?”

  “Jesus, Jimmi, what?” Glick pressed.

  “The crimes happened here, in this city.”

  * * *

  Kent sat down hard. This was the biggest break in the case… well it was the only big break. “Tell me she still lives in town.”

  Jimmi shuffled his feet a bit. “Well, I might have over exaggerated a bit in my exuberance.”

  “Jimmi…” Nicole threatened.

  “She does live here, but in a managed care facility. She has been catatonic since the rape… But hey, if there is anyone who can get someone in a twenty year catatonic state to help us, it’s you, right?”

  Kent loved his rep, but sometimes it got him in trouble. Like Jimmi thinking he could coax anything from a woman who had been catatonic for two decades. A coma was one thing. That was a medical condition. Someone could wake up from a coma after two decades with their memory intact, damaged or gone. Catatonia was something altogether different. It was the brain’s way of protecting itself from severe trauma. Unless someone came out of a catatonic state fairly quickly as the subconscious processed the trauma, they seldom came out.

  They were permanently locked in their own mind. If the victim hadn’t come out after all this time, could he really succeed in getting any information from her?

  “We have to at least try,” Nicole said, obviously trying to manage expectations.

  “While we run out there,” Kent told Jimmi, “I want everything and I mean everything on this woman.”

  “Marcy Becks,” Jimmi stated giving their victim a name.

  “I want to know what breakfast food Marcy ate, everything.”

  Jimmi nodded vigorously then ran, ran out of the bullpen. Kent kind of liked the kid.

  Kent turned to Nicole. “Ready to break the case?”

  She grabbed her keys from the desk. “Always.”

  * * *

  Nicole stood in the back of the hospital room. Marcy, two decades later was still hooked up to a dozen machines. A urine bag hung from the bedpost. She had a tube up her nose, Nicole supposed to feed her.

  This was no life at all. Kent had been bugging Nicole
to write a living will. Nicole had thought it morbid, but now after seeing this? She was going home tonight and printing off the forms.

  “No one ever visits her?” Kent asked the nurse that had escorted them into the room.

  The nurse shook her head. “No family that I know of. No one to sign an order to stop her feeding tube. She’d been here longer than I have and I started in the nineties.”

  “Who pays the bills?” Kent asked looking around the room. It was a nice facility, probably running ten thousand a month.

  “I think I heard there is a trust fund or something,” the nurse reported.

  “So no trustee or lawyer or executor of the fund has ever been by?”

  “You’d have to talk to admin for that info,” the nurse said. “I’ve got bed pans to change so just use this button to page one of us if you need anything…” the nurse looked to Marcy whose cheeks were shallow and her skin color was closer to grey than anything else. “Although I doubt anything will...”

  Nicole nodded as the woman left the room. She had about the same expectations as the nurse.

  Kent leaned over the patient. “Marcy, can you hear me? Do anything. Move a finger, blink, anything.”

  Nothing though. Kent took Marcy’s hand. “You haven’t had anyone that cared Marcy, I get it. But I’m here now and I’m trying to take down the man who did this to you.”

  Still nothing. What had either of them expected?

  Nicole’s phone vibrated at her hip. “Looks like it’s Jimmi.”

  “Put it on speaker,” Kent said.

  Nicole complied. “What’ve you got Jimmi?”

  She could hear Jimmi gulp several times before he spoke, it must be something big. “Take a look at the pic I just sent,”

  Nicole switched over to her text window to find a picture of a man.

  “Recognize him?” Jimmi asked.

  She flashed the picture to Kent who whistled through his teeth. It was Lucky 37. Younger, less scruffy, but Lucky.

  “Who is it?” Kent asked.

  “Marcy’s fiancée at the time of her attack. A Gerald Gurtz.”

  “Gerald Gurtz?” Kent repeated.

  “I know, that so doesn’t sound like Lucky 37’s real name,” Nicole added.

  “But it’s him,” Jimmi said. “I age progressed this photo and it is nearly a 100 percent perfect match to your guys’ sketch from the biker bar.”

  * * *

  Kent rolled the name around in his head. Gerald Gurtz. An innocuous name. Not the name of infamy you expected from a serial killer who had roamed the country killing at will. Gerald.

  Lucky 37 suited him better.

  Still he leaned over Marcy. “Did Gerald do this to you?”

  There was no response. Her pupils were mid-range, her pulse hadn’t changed. He hadn’t taken her hand to comfort her but to check her heartbeats.

  “Why wasn’t Gerald pulled in for doing this to Marcy?” Nicole asked Joshua.

  Joshua’s voice sounded tinny coming over the speakers. “Because he had an airtight alibi.”

  “Let me guess,” Nicole said. “His biker buddies.”

  “Exactly,” Joshua responded. “And police felt very strongly that the first rape and murder and Marcy’s were connected and Gerald wasn’t at all in their sights for the first one.”

  “Surrogate?” Nicole suggested.

  Kent nodded. Gerald’s frustrations and fantasies had probably circled around Marcy but he didn’t have it in him to attack her, so he found someone else that reminded him of Marcy and raped and killed her, then got the confidence to go after the real object of his obsession, Marcy.

  Kent leaned over the woman, “Did Gerald do this to you?”

  Again, there was no response whatsoever.

  He went on a hunch, figuring that sensory memory was a much more vital function, taking out the card that Lucky had left for him. Kent waved it under Marcy’s nose.

  Her pupils constricted and her eyelids fluttered.

  “Gotta go, Joshua,” Nicole said as she cut off the call mid-sentence and came to Kent’s side. “Was that a response?”

  “Looks like it,” Kent said. “Marcy blink once for no. Two for yes. Is your name Marcy?”

  There were two blinks. Bingo he had gotten in.

  “Did Gerald do this to you?”

  Two more blinks. Damn he was good. It was confirmed, not just suspected that Gerald Gurtz raped and attempted to murder Marcy which meant Gurtz was Lucky.

  Kent was so close to Marcy he could smell the anti-lice shampoo that they used on her hair. But was there something else as well? He smelled up and down her neck and her pillow.

  “What are you doing?” Nicole asked.

  “Has he been here?” Kent asked.

  Marcy’s eyelids fluttered frantically as a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Get the nurse!” Kent barked.

  “But I don’t --”

  “Nic, just get the nurse.”

  * * *

  Nicole didn’t understand what was going on, but she went and flagged down the nurse that had helped them from before.

  “What’s wrong?” the nurse asked, slightly winded from running down the hallway.

  “We need a rape kit stat,” Kent ordered.

  “No,” the nurse moaned. “This couldn’t happen again.”

  “Again?” Nicole asked.

  The nurse nodded. “About sixteen years back, Marcy here got pregnant. There was an orderly who was accused of touching another patient so we all just assumed it was him and he was fired.”

  “Was there a DNA test done? Were there any charges pressed?” Kent asked in rapid fire.

  “No, the hospital didn’t want any bad press and with no family…”

  Right, Nicole got it. Who cared that a catatonic patient got raped when you had a reputation to uphold.

  “What happened to the baby?” Nicole asked.

  The nurse shrugged. “I think it was put up for adoption.”

  Kent snapped his fingers. “I told you he had a teenaged daughter.”

  Nicole looked to Kent. This couldn’t really be happening could it? Had Lucky 37 been coming back to “visit” aka rape Marcy over and over again. Had he fathered a child by her? Had he been here recently?

  Her mind spun with the implications. Kent, as always, seemed way ahead of her. He grabbed her phone and dialed. He didn’t even wait for Jimmi to speak.

  “Get adoption papers for a child birthed by Marcy about sixteen years ago,” Kent stated.

  “It could take a few days to get the court --”

  “Jimmi, we both know your skills. Get me those adoption records.”

  Kent then reached over and cut the line, probably to stop Jimmi from whining.

  Nicole turned to the nurse. “I’m going to need all of your security footage from this hallway for the last week.”

  Seemingly in shock herself, the nurse didn’t move.

  “Now,” Nicole emphasized and urged the nurse to the door.

  Once her squeaky shoes left the room there was a silence only broken by the whir of the machines. Tears still streaked down Marcy’s face, although she cried silently. Her slack face held no expression so the tears seemed out of place.

  But Nicole knew they were exactly in the right place.

  “No wonder she never came out of her catatonia,” Kent said, smoothing the woman’s hair back. He could be the most tender at the oddest moments.

  “She’d been traumatized over and over again,” Nicole added. “How awful.”

  Kent leaned over and whispered into Marcy’s ear. “He’s mine, now.”

  The woman’s eyes fluttered. If only she knew what Kent had in mind.

  Nicole’s phone rang. “Joshua?”

  She didn’t wait for Kent, she just put it on speaker.

  “You guys are never going to figure out what I found!”

  Kent rose from Marcy’s side. “That Lucky 37 has a teenage kid.”

  * * *

&nb
sp; Joshua wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so eviscerated. Ever so deflated. Like jumping into icy water when your testicle sucked back up into your body for protection.

  “How did you know?” he blurted, not bothering to hide his pain.

  “Do you have a name for her?” Kent asked, brushing past Joshua’s hurt feelings like they were a rancid stack of flattened pancakes.

  “Him,” Joshua corrected. “The child is a boy.”

  So there was a silver lining here. In the silence that followed, Joshua knew that Kent’s eyebrows were pulling together as he frowned. He had miscalculated one small detail.

  “Boy? You are sure?” Kent asked.

  “I’ve got an ‘X’ and a ‘Y’ chromosome staring right back at me.

  “That can’t be,” Kent nearly whispered.

  But it was. Kent wasn’t perfect, but damn he came close.

  Joshua loved being at the center of the investigation like this. He knew that Jimmi had thrown down some pretty good evidence earlier. Joshua was playing catch up. But he always liked to come in as the underdog.

  He was like Rudy, only with dead bodies. Yah that was it.

  “Do you have a name?” Nicole asked. Apparently Kent was too blown away by his error that he couldn’t speak.

  Yep, Joshua had caused Kent to be speechless. Like he said this was going to be a great night.

  “Yes, it is Dell Sherrer.”

  “Gotta go,” is all that Nicole said before abruptly hanging up the connection.

  That was weird. Usually Kent did the hanging up.

  * * *

  Kent couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. He had been right. So very wrong, yet so right. The sensation filled him up from the inside. It welled like a long bottled spring, erupting in his chest, warming him throughout.

  Everyone criticized him for always needing to be right, but he had to be right. To think he had messed up and thought that Lucky 37 had a daughter rather than a son, that would have been a critical error. That supposition had been the basis for everything he thought he knew about Lucky. Had he been wrong in that, he would have been wrong on everything.

  And his need to be right went deeper than that. He was only as successful as he was because he trusted his instincts one hundred percent. If he started to doubt those, he would be reduced to just another profiler stumbling around, groping for answers.