No Darker Place--A Thriller

by Debra Webb

“So, how do you know so much about people in general?” As a cop with several years under her belt, she had better than average insight, but Shade was like a shrink—maybe too much like one.

  “After I left the military, I immersed myself in psychology and human nature. Like now, I can see you’re anxious.”

  She studied the map and made a dismissive sound. “I’m a cop. We have three victims out there somewhere with a serial killer. Anxious is an understatement.”

  “You’re worried about the victims, but you’re anxious because you’re afraid I’m in the way of the goal you’ve set.”

  He was guessing. “Even if you’d hit the nail on the head, how would you know something like that? I thought you said you aren’t psychic?”

  “You glance at me repeatedly, then look around. You keep checking the time, hoping the day will be over so you can go to your house and shut out the world until you’re ready to emerge again—in the dark, alone. You want to do this alone because you believe that’s the only way Perry will approach you.”

  “Where are we going next?” She kept her attention fixed on the map. No way was she letting him see the truth of his words in her eyes.

  “We’re going for food,” he said in answer to her question. “The way you keep grimacing and showing signs of fatigue, you need to eat.”

  He knew too much already.

  Her cell vibrated with an incoming text from Owens. Briefing at 1. Be there.

  “I guess we’ll have to hit a drive-through.”

  The briefing couldn’t be about a new development, Newt would have let her know.

  She stared at the passing landscape. They were getting close.

  We’re going to get you, motherfucker.

  Bobbie stilled. She glanced at Shade. There was no “we.” What was wrong with her brain today?

  Twenty-Seven

  West Montgomery, 3:30 p.m.

  “I have to go.” Lynette bit back the other words she wanted to shout, but that would only make bad matters worse. She glanced at Bauer, who pretended to be messing with his phone. No matter that they’d been partners since before she got her promotion to sergeant, she still felt the weight of his judgment about her alternative lifestyle. He swore he didn’t care, and maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was her paranoia. “Really, Tricia, I have to go. Yes. I’ll see you when I see you.”

  Lynette ended the call and tucked her phone back at her waist. “Is this our turn?”

  “Yeah. Right there on Erskine. Make a left.”

  Slowing, she made the turn. She blew out a breath and shoved back a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun. She would be so damned glad when this case was over. Any time the feds were crawling all over the city, the chief was on everybody’s ass. The damned heat didn’t help.

  “I’m still pissed that Owens sent Newt and Bobbie with Agent Hadden,” Bauer grumbled. “I was hoping to work with the feds this time. Instead, we’re stuck following up on every lunatic who decides to call in about Perry.”

  “I noticed. You’ve been pouting all morning.” There were many things about the job that got on her nerves, but a whiny male was by far the most annoying.

  “I am not pouting. I’m frustrated.” He heaved a big sigh. “You sound pretty damned frustrated yourself. Trouble in paradise?”

  Lynette wanted to slap his smug face. Life was so easy for good-looking heterosexual males. He had no idea what she had gone through in her life. At sixteen when she’d realized she was gay, she’d lost her best friend. When she was twenty-two and came out of the closet, she’d lost her parents. They still pretended that life was normal between them, but she knew they merely tolerated her choices. College, the job, every fucking thing was harder when you were gay. Even her love life had come with more ups and downs than the average. By the time she reached her midthirties, she no longer gave a shit what anyone else thought. Then she’d met Patricia Underwood. She had fallen madly, deeply in love with her. They’d gotten married two years ago and were expecting their first child. Lynette had provided the egg and Tricia carried the baby. It was perfect.

  Except Tricia seemed to be having trouble staying at home alone. The baby was due in two weeks, so Tricia had started her leave from the bakery. From the day she began staying at home, she had started calling Lynette every other hour.

  “She’s pregnant,” Lynette snapped. “Pregnant women have extra needs.”

  “Remind me never to get a woman pregnant.” He smirked. “Are you ever going to tell who the sperm donor was?”

  “Go fuck yourself, Bauer.” She flashed him a smile. She wanted to add that at least her lover hadn’t committed suicide, but she bit the mean words back. No matter that Bauer tried to pretend that he was over that tragedy—it had been two years he would remind her—it was obvious to Lynette he wasn’t. He was an ass a lot of the time, but Leyla’s death had hurt him badly. He did such a good job of pretending he didn’t care about a damned thing that she often forgot that beneath that I-don’t-give-a-shit exterior was a decent guy...for the most part. One who she suspected was drinking way too much. When this was over, she had to address that issue.

  “I will never have to worry about that, Sergeant.” He leaned back in the seat and tried to stretch his legs. “You see, I’m so charming and so damned good-looking that if I live to be a hundred I won’t be able to bed all the babes who want me.”

  “I’m sure.” She had to laugh. The guy was so full of himself. Truth was he was damned good-looking, and he could be charming. He was also smart and a good detective. Since his girlfriend died, she wouldn’t trust him in the room with her seventy-year-old mother. The guy would screw anything.

  Rumor was he was cheating on his fiancée, she found out and OD’d on sleeping pills. Lynette knew better. He had loved that woman with everything he had. Still, she didn’t ask. If he wanted to talk about his personal life, he would.

  “You think Bobbie’ll ever be the same?”

  Lynette parked in front of the house belonging to the tipster who’d called in on the hotline claiming he had seen Perry. “She’s still a good detective. She takes some serious ass risks. Like walking into that house with Carl Evans. That was way out of line.”

  “Oh yeah,” Bauer agreed. “Miller is still bitching about it.”

  Lynette harrumphed. “Miller complains about everything. I don’t know how he ended up SWAT Commander. The man is a whiny bitch.”

  “That might be true, but he kicks major ass in the field. Have you ever gone out on a call with him?”

  Lynette opened her door. “You just like that he throws grenades and kicks in doors.”

  “I should sign up for SWAT.” He looked over the top of the Crown Vic at her. “I’d be badass, Sarge.”

  “Yeah, but you might ruin that pretty face.”

  “Seriously, though,” he said. “I miss the old Bobbie. She was the one who brought cake every time it was somebody’s birthday. She made us laugh no matter what else was going on.”

  Lynette remembered. She would never forget the way Bobbie held Bauer’s hand at Leyla’s funeral. She never left his side. For weeks after the funeral, she made sure he got out of bed and came to work. Lynette was the one who put him to bed every night for the first month or so. He’d drink himself unconscious wherever he happened to be. Ten on the dot every night she hustled over to wherever he’d crashed and dragged him to bed. She wondered if he would do the same for her.

  Shaking off the bad memories, she surveyed the house for the first time. “Are you sure this is the right address? The place looks abandoned.”

  A long barrel suddenly poked through a broken pane of glass.

  “Gun!” Lynette hit the ground and rolled as the blast of the shotgun ruptured the silence. She drew her Glock and took aim.

  Bauer went down and rolled in the othe
r direction. Another shot thundered and hit the ground between them.

  “Mr. Hennessey, you okay in there, sir?” Lynette shouted. The caller had given that name.

  A few yards away Bauer was calling for backup.

  “Mr. Hennessey, it’s Sergeant Holt and Detective Bauer. Remember you called us about a tip on Gaylon Perry?”

  According to the operator who’d taken the call the tipster sounded like an older African American gentleman. Lynette hadn’t gotten a look at the shooter. At this point she couldn’t be sure who or what they were dealing with.

  The barrel withdrew from the window. Bauer took off, staying low as he scrambled around the end of the house. Lynette moved closer to the front door, using the concrete porch for cover. The snap of the weapon indicated he’d reloaded. The barrel extended once more through the broken window.

  Damn it. She still couldn’t see the shooter.

  The best she could do was to keep him talking while Bauer sized up the situation.

  “Mr. Hennessey, did we do something wrong? You did ask us to come?”

  “I’ll tell you what you did wrong,” he shouted. “You’ve killed one too many of my people. It’s time we evened the score.”

  Fuck! If they couldn’t disable this guy before backup arrived, this would not end well for the man inside.

  Her cell vibrated. She checked the screen. A text from Bauer.

  House is empty. Only the shooter. Old man. Going in.

  She quickly entered a response. No deadly force unless no choice.

  “Mr. Hennessey,” she called as she put her phone away. “Why don’t we put down our weapons and talk about this?”

  “The only talking I’m gonna do is with this twelve gauge.”

  Shit! “What about your family, Mr. Hennessey? If you shoot one of us, you’re going to jail for a very long time. You’ll hurt your family, sir.”

  “You killed my grandson, Tyrell. You shot him dead and he didn’t do nothing wrong. Now I’m going to shoot you dead.”

  “I didn’t shoot him, Mr. Hennessey. Maybe you need to talk to the person who shot him and find out what really happened.” Lynette remembered the case. Six months ago, Tyrell Pride entered a convenience store and robbed the clerk at gunpoint. When he’d exited the store, a cruiser just happened to pull into the parking lot. Tyrell started shooting, and the officer had no choice but to return fire. Tyrell died three days later.

  “I know all I need to know.” The old man fired in her direction. A piece of concrete chipped off the edge of the porch.

  Fuck!

  “Drop the weapon, Mr. Hennessey!” Bauer shouted.

  He was inside. Tension rushed through Lynette’s limbs.

  Hennessey still had one round in the chamber. If he wheeled on Bauer, he’d have no choice but to defend himself and then an old black man would die, making two white cops look like the bad guys.

  Lynette scrambled up and ran. She zigzagged back and forth, making for a hard target. She didn’t have to look to know the barrel tracked her movements.

  The shotgun discharged.

  She hit the ground.

  When pain failed to streak through her body, she looked toward the house.

  “Stay down, sir!” Bauer’s voice echoed from inside.

  Her partner had him. Thank God.

  Lynette got up and double-timed it to the door. The wail of sirens signaled backup was almost here.

  In the vacant living room, Bauer had cuffed the old man and put his weapon out of reach. Hennessey screamed profanities, mostly about cops.

  Lynette leaned against the wall and took her first deep breath since they arrived.

  She suddenly wanted to talk to Tricia...just to hear her voice.

  She shook her head. Sometimes she hated this job.

  Twenty-Eight

  7:20 p.m.

  Bobbie was ready to tear out her hair. First there was the pointless briefing that had consumed an hour with nothing but rehashing what they already knew. Then, they’d spent every minute of the past five and a half hours combing the back roads on the north side of Montgomery and found nothing.

  “A needle in a haystack,” she muttered. Her cell vibrated and she checked the screen. Newt. “Hey, partner.” Bobbie wondered how he was enjoying his time as Hadden’s partner. Later, when it was just the two of them, she would ask. She was grateful he was covering for her. Owens and the chief thought she was with him and that made things far less complicated.

  “Agent Mason passed down word that we should call it a day,” Newt told her. “Briefing’s at eight in the morning.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Newt.”

  “Hey,” Newt said, “Hadden asked some questions about Shade. I did a lot of hedging and tossed out the same story we’ve been giving.”

  Bobbie digested the news. “Okay. Good to know. See you in the morning.”

  “Night, girlie.”

  Bobbie put her cell away and opted not to mention the agent’s interest. Shade wasn’t a fool. He expected questions. “Agent Mason is sending the troops home for the day.”

  “It’ll be dark soon,” Shade commented. “We should do the same.”

  She surveyed the landscape. Where are you, you son of a bitch?

  The drive back to Gardendale didn’t take long since they were on her side of town already. The idea that Perry could be only minutes from her house made her want to turn around and continue searching until she found him or she was too exhausted to continue. It didn’t seem right to stop just because the sun had gone down.

  “Since we’re doing this together,” Shade began, “like partners, I want you to know that I’m working on a potential angle for luring Perry out of hiding.”

  “What kind of angle?” Why was she just hearing this? “Is it legal?” Did she really care?

  “It involves his mother—that’s all I can say.” He pulled into her driveway. “I’ll tell you more as soon as the details are in place.”

  She started to protest but a package on her porch where the beam of the headlights rested derailed whatever argument she’d intended to make.

  “Did you order something?”

  She opened her door to get out. “No.”

  Shade was out of the car and hustling up the sidewalk right behind her. She withdrew a pair of latex gloves from her jacket pocket and tugged them on while he used his cell as a flashlight and shined the beam into the open box.

  Pale blue shirt...blood.

  A black leather credentials case lay on top of the wadded shirt. Her heart hammering, Bobbie reached for the case and opened it.

  Special Agent Anthony LeDoux.

  Damn.

  She placed the case back on the shirt and moved away from the box. “I’ll call it in.”

  Forty minutes later her yard was lit up like a stadium. Newt and three evidence techs, along with Agents Mason and Hadden were inspecting every blade of grass. Bobbie and four other members of the task force were going from door to door canvassing the neighbors. Shade stuck with her, though she was confident he’d rather not have been under such close scrutiny from all the law enforcement personnel on the scene. He usually faded into the background or disappeared whenever anyone else was around.

  She wondered what he had to hide.

  “You take this one,” she said as they approached the next house. “I’ve got a call.”

  While Shade knocked on the door and asked the same questions—Have you seen this man? Did you see a gray Prius or black Altima in the neighborhood today?—Bobbie stayed at the street and called her friend Andy Keller, who was currently combing her yard for evidence.

  “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

  “I can and will.”

  It was easy to imagine the big goofy smile on
his face. He was a good guy who asked her out at least twice a month. Bobbie didn’t have the heart to tell him not to waste his time. She was damaged goods.

  “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I’d like you to lift a few prints from the steering wheel of my Challenger and see what you come up with?”

  “You trying to find yourself, Detective Gentry?” he teased.

  “Just checking up on something. I’ll owe you big-time.”

  “Dinner would be payment enough,” he said, the humor gone from his voice now.

  She moistened her lips and did what she had to do. “Dinner it is then.” Before ending the call she tacked on, “Let me know what you find. The sooner the better, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  Bobbie put the phone away just as Shade headed back down the sidewalk. He shook his head. “Same answers as all the others.”

  No surprise there. People in this neighborhood went out of their way not to see things. Sometimes what you saw could get you killed.

  “Let’s grab that one before anyone else gets to it.” She pointed to the house at the far end of the street.

  “I take it that one belongs to your pal Quintero?”

  “That’s the one.”

  They walked to the end of the block. The few street lamps that worked provided little light. Good thing the sky was clear. She could see four—no five—of Javier’s boys lounging on the porch. Six or seven vehicles were parked in the yard. How did this bastard continue to operate so efficiently under the MPD’s radar?

  As she walked through the chain-link gate, one of the men asked, “What you want, bitch?”

  Bobbie set her hands on her hips, pushing her jacket open and showing off her badge and weapon. Not that any of them didn’t already know who she was. “Not you, that’s for sure.” When the laughter died down, she asked, “Where’s Javier?”

  “He’s busy right now.”

  She took the first step up to the porch. “Tell him I’m here.”

  Shade moved up beside her.

  The silence lasted a beat longer than she would have preferred.

  The one who’d been doing all the talking told one of his boys to get Javier. He did this in Spanish. Bobbie spoke enough of the language to understand. No one said a word while they waited. Down the street the sounds of cops banging on doors echoed through the darkness.