by Mary Stone
“You promise?”
“It will be like you’re absolved of every horrible thing you’ve done in your life.”
I stood, readying the syringe. He rolled up his sleeve and held perfectly still while I tied a tourniquet above his elbow. “Make a fist and squeeze your hand.”
He did as I asked, his shallow breaths the only outward sign of his fear. Careful not to cause him unnecessary pain, I injected the special blend of Scopolamine directly into the basilic vein in the crook of his elbow. A quiet hiss escaped his lips, but he remained still.
I covered the needle with a cotton ball, then slid it free. “Bend your elbow for a moment.” I patted his leg. “You’ll probably want to lie down.”
“Why?” He followed directions, though his forehead wrinkled into a frown.
I laid the syringe on a nearby table and adjusted a throw pillow beneath his head. Shrugging, I moved my chair closer. “Because I gave you a little extra, and you’ll feel woozy here in a second.” I pursed my lips. “I also should be honest with you about what I just gave you.”
“You said it would make hypnosis easier.”
“That I did.”
He shuddered as his eyes widened. My pulse quickened when his hand grabbed mine, fear overriding any hatred of me he still harbored. “What’s happening to me?”
“There was a small dose of Ketamine in the syringe. Not enough to paralyze you, but you should find your fine motor skills waning.”
Emotions swirled in his eyes. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“This will help me keep that promise. I need you pliant, and I see the fight still in your eyes. You’ve been lying to me. I’m not the fool you think I am.”
He licked his lips with painful slowness. “I was going to run the first time I got a chance.” His eyes widened when the words fell from his lips. “Why did I say that?”
“You won’t be able to help it. I know that’s distressing to hear but bear with me a moment. This can be a very liberating experience if you allow yourself the opportunity.”
“I want to go home.”
“I know you do.” I patted his hand. “I want you to listen to the sound of my voice and try to relax.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. Relax and let your mind wander all the way back to the night before you woke up in a cage. How did you end up there?”
His eyes went out of focus. “I was kidnapped.”
“Let’s be more honest, shall we?”
“I was kidnapped because of a woman.”
I gave him a knowing smile, and he averted his gaze in shame. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”
“You already know.”
“I want to hear you admit it. Admit that you deserved what happened to you.”
He shook his head, but his mouth betrayed him. “I robbed a woman in an alley.”
I grabbed his chin and turned his head so he could see the disappointment in my face. “Why would you do something like that?”
“She looked rich, all right? I needed a fix, and I just wanted her money.”
“What happened then?” My lips parted, and I held my breath.
“When I grabbed her, she didn’t scream. She just laughed in my face and said I was going to regret what I’d done. Then I felt a pain in my shoulder, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up on a cement floor surrounded by other men.”
“They were hoping you would take the bait.”
His brow furrowed, though the lines were not as deep as they would’ve been, had he been in complete control of his muscle movements. “I don’t understand.”
“You were handpicked for your beauty.” I drew in a shuddering breath, letting my eyes run over him to weight my words. “Katarina couldn’t have known this, but she chose the perfect victim.”
“I attacked her.”
“You were set up.”
His mouth went slack as my words sank in. “I was?”
“Targeted from the start. They were probably watching you for days.” I leaned closer, so excited now that I could hardly contain myself. “How was it, withdrawing from the poison, the drugs you put into your body?”
“Horrible.”
“I would imagine. But you’re clean now.”
He tried to smile, but his lips barely flinched, as if it wasn’t worth the effort. “Thinking clearly for the first time in a long time.”
“What unfortunate timing. How many years of your life did you waste in a haze?”
He grimaced, but like every other movement, it was painfully slow and exaggerated. “Too much time. I wish I could go back and do it all again.” He paused, turning his head toward me, eyes pleading. “Can you help me with that?”
“I’m sad to say I won’t be able to.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is the end of the line for you, I’m afraid.” I sighed heavily and brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead. “My vacation is nearly over, and I need some downtime after a kill.”
It took many seconds for my statement to absorb, then a single tear slid from one eye. “You promised you wouldn’t kill me.”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I said at all. But the heart hears what it wants, I suppose. I promised if you cooperated that things would go according to plan, and you wouldn’t suffer unnecessarily.”
“Death is suffering.”
“A slow death is suffering. This will be quick, and the pain will be short-lived.”
His eyes filled with a million tears. “I don’t want to die.”
I brushed away the tear that spilled over onto his cheek and slid my hand down to his throat. “That’s what makes this fun.”
“I’ll fight you until my last breath.” He gasped for air, clenching his jaw and staring at me with hatred.
Chuckling, I tweaked his nose playfully. “No, you won’t. That’s the beauty of the cocktail I gave you. Even if you could override the Scopolamine, your reflexes are quite a bit slower than you realize.” His eyes narrowed, and he struck out at me, but I just laughed and leaned back slightly. “There, you see? That was a monumental effort for nothing.”
“I won’t make this easy.” His teeth were clenched, voice angry.
“You already have.”
He blinked, still flat on his back on the couch. “What?” He clutched at my hand on his throat, but his fingers were weak and useless.
I clamped my hand tighter, pressing upward, feeling the soft bones beneath my palm shift with the added pressure.
His eyes bugged out.
“It’s so funny how you didn’t notice for so long. Couldn’t you feel my hand around your neck?”
“Please, stop.”
“I can’t.” I could feel the pulse against my skin. Thump. Thump. Beating from his body and straight into me.
“Why?”
“Because I love you, Gabe.” I squeezed harder, and he coughed.
“Not… Gabe.” I could barely make out the words, but I understood his meaning exactly.
I covered my left hand with my right, standing over him and putting my weight into it. I stayed like that as I watched him intently. Felt his body stiffen before going limp. Saw the life drain from his eyes. Though I knew it was just my fancy, I could have sworn I felt the hyoid bone snap beneath his skin.
It was over much too quickly.
“It’s your name now, Gabe.” Smiling, I brushed my lips across his, whispering in his ear one last time, my hands still wrapped around his neck. “It is now.”
26
Ellie sat back in her desk chair and blew out a huge breath. The evidence against detective Jones was stacking up in more ways than one. “This isn’t looking good.”
Jillian gestured to the papers Ellie had spread across the desk in front of her. “What are those?”
“Jones’s bank statements, the deeds to his house and personal properties, and his pension statement.”
Jillian arched an eyebrow. “How did you get those?
”
“I called in a few favors.”
Jillian scoffed. “I’d say that’s more than a few.”
Ellie grinned and shrugged. “The Kline family name, you know?”
“Anything jump out at you?”
Ellie nodded, pointing to the lines she’d highlighted. “There’s no way he should have this much money in his account. There are tens of thousands of dollars I can’t account for from an income.”
“What about investment properties or stocks?”
Ellie shook her head. “I checked. Zilch. I also looked into his wife’s financials, but she was a lifelong homemaker, and her father died from an extended illness when she was thirty. His medical bills alone wiped out what was left of her parents’ assets. This money seems to have materialized out of nowhere.” She handed a sheet of paper to Jillian. “This was ten years ago, but look at his mortgage.”
Jillian gasped. “How in the world would a detective pay off over a hundred-thousand-dollar mortgage all at once?”
“Exactly. That money never hit his bank, and from the looks of it, was paid through an unknown third party.” She shuffled through another set of papers and held one up so Jillian could see. “This one looked like a legitimate business at first glance, but it’s a dummy corporation. Every lead I follow goes nowhere.”
“Like you would encounter with the mob?” Jillian took the paper and studied it.
“Exactly. Nothing but a bunch of smoke and mirrors. Still, Jones’s accounts and activities were never flagged. The bank that owned his mortgage should’ve noticed something, but there’s no indication of even a second glance, let alone an in-house investigation.”
Jillian tilted her head sideways and pinched her lips together, thinking. “Maybe the bank knew about another source of income we’re missing. What about life insurance? Isn’t Mrs. Jones deceased?”
“Mrs. Jones didn’t die until years after the mortgage was paid off, and according to everything I could find on her, she didn’t have a life insurance policy. Add two children who completed college without taking out a single student loan. I’m finding Arthur Fink’s wild claims more believable by the minute.”
“As much as I hate to agree, Jones’s financial situation is more than a little suspicious. It looks like he went out of his way to keep from getting caught, which makes it seem calculated. Like he didn’t just fall in, but walked in with eyes wide open.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Ellie grimaced. “That makes it worse. And there must’ve been quite a few cases besides the ones we know about, because there are other big bills of his that were paid off like the house was.”
“The way he did it was smart, if you think about it. The bank has to report you to the IRS if you withdraw or receive a certain amount of money in a short period of time, but no one says a thing if your mortgage is paid off, or an anonymous donor takes care of your car payments. As long as they’re paid, creditors don’t seem to care where the money comes from. If you want to hide thousands of dollars, pay off your creditors with the dirty money, and put the rest in your bank.” Jillian shrugged and shook her head. “It shouldn’t be that way, but money is king.”
“I don’t think he was doing it just for the money. Arthur Fink told me that Jones let the Brooks case go unsolved to cover for the man who bought Ben Brooks from that website. And when I checked his bank statements and other activities around the time the body was discovered, nothing jumped out at me.”
“How long was he on the take by then?”
“Ten years, maybe more.”
Jillian whistled low between her teeth. “They owned him by the time Ben Brooks came up. Say no, and they expose you for the dirty cop you are?”
“That’s what got me thinking about the rest of the cases Jones worked that ran cold, despite plenty of evidence. Maybe he wasn’t inept or burned out. I think he was actively working to make sure certain cases went cold.”
Jillian scowled.
“I noticed that Tabitha and Mabel’s cases had copious notes, yet he made no headway.” Ellie froze. In an instant, she was on her feet and hurrying into the evidence cage. She practically ran until she came to the back of the room, slowing to a brisk walk as she entered the cold case room.
Her finger trailed along the lettering on white evidence boxes, until the digit landed on her own name. By the time she set it down on the nearest table, Jillian was right beside her.
She opened the lid, digging through the contents before holding up a stack of wrinkled and faded notepad paper that was more cream than yellow.
“Right here.” She spread the pages out in order on the table as Jillian stood at her side. Ellie used her finger to trace Jones’s messy handwriting, and when she found it, stopped and jabbed at the paper. “There. It says right there that he interviewed both my parents and me, but I don’t remember talking to him, Jillian.”
“Is it possible that you were out of it and just forgot?”
Ellie shrugged, already dialing her phone. “Maybe, but I know one person who never forgets anything.”
Helen Kline answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
Ellie greeted her mother, but before the social butterfly could say more, Ellie blurted out the reason for her call. “Have you ever spoken to a Detective Jones, Mom?”
Helen paused for a moment, and Ellie could picture her tilting her head daintily, taking a moment before she answered. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Was he at the law enforcement charity dinner last autumn?”
“Further back than that. I was thinking more about the week I was in the hospital. Do you remember if he interviewed you about my disappearance?”
This time, her answer was quick. “Good heavens, no. Eleanor, sweetheart, we gave our statements through our lawyers.”
“In his notes, he says that you told him, quote, ‘This isn’t the first time Eleanor has engaged in risky behavior, and we’ve been forced to hire a bodyguard to ensure her continued safety. We’ve received no ransom note, but it’s commonplace for our family to receive threats now and again due to our place in the spotlight.’”
Helen’s gasp was so loud that Jillian cringed from several feet away. “Oh no, I never said any such thing. I wouldn’t, Eleanor. I would never, even if it were true. Which it’s not. You were always such a good child, even when you were being sassy.”
“I believe you.” Ellie continued before Helen could go on. “Listen, I’m sorry to upset you. Just trying to clear up a few things here at the office. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Eleanor, whatever that man said is an outright lie. If he insists on spreading such rumors, I’ll be contacting our lawyer.”
“He’s retired now, so you don’t have to worry about that. I have to go now. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Ellie hung up the phone and let out the breath she’d been holding. “Want to bet my mother isn’t the only one shocked by the content of the notes?”
“No.” Jillian followed Ellie down the aisles of evidence boxes, holding her arms out so Ellie could hand her a stack to take to the table. “I don’t like to lose.”
Ellie blew out a breath and carried her own collection of cold cases to the long table. When she pulled out the contact sheet from the first box, she frowned. “I hate to do this, but there’s only one way to find out if my hunch is right.”
“You don’t have to tell them why you’re asking.”
“You’re right. I just hate the secrecy. When my case was still active, it was like everyone knew more about what happened to me than I did. I hated that feeling.”
“This is different.”
“I know you’re right, but it doesn’t make it easier.” She typed a number into her cell phone and waited with the case notes in front of her as it rang, not sure what she was going to say until Tabitha’s mother answered.
“Hi, this is Detective Kline. I’m sorry to bother you, but I had a really quick question I was hoping you could answ
er about your daughter’s case.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Baker’s voice on the line was gentle and friendly.
“Do you remember speaking to a Detective Jones when Tabitha went missing?”
“Yes, I do. Not in person, so I couldn’t tell you what he looks like, but I remember him because he was so very kind and patient. I was rather persistent in the beginning, but he assured me that young adults often run off without telling anyone.” She paused and gave a light groan. “Now that I think about it, maybe Tabitha’s death would’ve come to light sooner if I’d been more persistent. It was just so easy to believe that she would show up on my doorstep one day.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Just that he would do everything he could to bring closure to the case.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Ellie put as much reassurance into her voice as she could, knowing how the woman had suffered over her daughter.
“Have I?” The woman sighed. “I’ve run her death over in my mind a million times the past few months. I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t been so eager to believe that nothing bad could happen to my Tabitha, could I have saved her?”
Ellie caught her lips between her teeth, knowing the answer to that from personal experience. “No, ma’am, you couldn’t have. Tabitha was killed before you even knew she was missing. There was nothing you could’ve done differently. Nothing.”
There was a soft, quivering breath, then a quiet sob and a sniffle before Tabitha’s mother spoke again. “Thank you, Detective Kline. You have no idea what it means to hear you say that. And thank you again for all the trouble you went to for her and Mabel. It meant the world for both families to give both young women’s lives such a beautiful celebration.”
Ellie’s anger was at a slow boil as she hung up the phone three calls later. “Not one family remembers anything close to what Jones is claiming. He didn’t interview these people. He gave them the brush-off then wrote notes as if he’d had actual conversations with them.”
“He worked alone most of the time, right? It’s not like anyone was going to find out.”