Beneath the Surface

by Lynn H. Blackburn

  Jenkins surrendered on the spot. Two uniformed officers were dispatched to pick him up and return him to Carrington for questioning.

  Ryan would have gone to get him, but he knew his time would be better spent in the office. Especially since the Chatham County ME reported the body they’d recovered had had a knee replacement. The missing persons reports on the three plastic surgery patients indicated one of them had surgical scarring around the knee consistent with a knee replacement.

  He’d even asked another homicide investigator to go with Dante and his forensics team to process Wyatt Jenkins’s house. As much as Ryan wanted to see what sort of evidence they might find, he needed to talk to Wyatt Jenkins now.

  Ryan had called Leigh with an update an hour ago. He knew she was sick of being stuck at home, and he hated to disappoint her by telling her he wouldn’t be able to come over tonight. But if Wyatt Jenkins was their guy, losing one Friday evening together in exchange for getting her life back would be totally worth it.

  23

  Ryan took a seat across from Wyatt Jenkins in the small interrogation room.

  “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I can assure you I am innocent,” Wyatt said. “I came willingly.”

  “After you ran from the police.”

  “A bunch of cops show up in the middle of my dinner. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Go with them?”

  “It caught me off guard.” Wyatt slouched further into the metal chair. “What do you want to talk to me about anyway?”

  Ryan slid the picture of Harold Claussen across the table. “Recognize him?”

  “Should I?”

  “He was in your operating room a month ago.”

  Wyatt studied the photo. “What was he having done?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, it matters. I do anesthesia, but the docs do a lot of work on faces. I’m close by, but half the time they’ve got pen marks all over them, not to mention the masks and oxygen I’m using to keep their airways open. You show me a photo of a guy in a suit and tie and ask me to match him with one of thirty faces I’ve seen on an operating table in the past month? Don’t want much, do you?”

  It annoyed him that the guy had a point.

  He slid a picture of Leigh across the table. “Recognize her?”

  Wyatt looked at the picture longer than Ryan would have liked. “She’s pretty.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Wyatt frowned. “Wait a minute. She’s not dead, is she?”

  “Who said anything about anyone being dead?”

  Wyatt tugged on his ears. “These babies work fine. I know you guys are working on a homicide case.” He pointed to the photo of Leigh. “Seriously, has something happened to her? I know her from the Carrington hospital. Friendly. Good NP. The docs love her.”

  “But you don’t know her?”

  “Know her well enough to say hi in the hallway, chat about the rain in the break room when I stop in for coffee. But not like I’d strike up a conversation with her if I saw her at the movies or in a store.”

  “Where were you Saturday night, two weeks ago?”

  Wyatt stared at the table. “I don’t know. Probably at home?” Ryan waited while Wyatt counted back the days under his breath. “I was off that weekend,” he said. “I stayed home.”

  “Can anyone confirm that you were home?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I live alone. My neighbors might have noticed? But no.”

  Ryan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it. “Sit tight for a moment.”

  He found Gabe and Anissa waiting for him in the hallway. “We’ve got some interesting banking activity for Mr. Jenkins,” Anissa said.

  “By interesting, she means since when does a nurse anesthetist deposit an extra two hundred thousand dollars over the past seventeen months?”

  “Any idea where it came from?” Ryan asked.

  Anissa pointed to the paper she was holding. “He had a cash deposit of ten grand a month ago.”

  “When Claussen was killed,” Gabe added.

  “You think he’s taking the cash they don’t use for their surgery? Pocketing it and killing them?” Ryan asked.

  Anissa shrugged. “I don’t know, but the cash deposits started smaller, around two thousand dollars for a couple of months. Nothing that would raise much suspicion. But they’ve grown over time, and for the past year he’s been depositing anywhere from five to twenty grand—in cash—each month.”

  Gabe clapped his hands together. “Look, he isn’t killing off one patient a month. But what if he’s taking the cash off these guys and then depositing it slowly, trying not to grab anyone’s attention?”

  “It’s possible,” Ryan said.

  “Is it enough to hold him?”

  “His body size fits the statistics Sabrina gave us for our parking garage stalker.”

  Ryan’s phone buzzed again. He showed the picture to Anissa, then Gabe.

  A chain saw with a fresh blade but glowing luminescent from the spray the forensics techs had used to check for blood.

  They hadn’t told anyone that the ME and the anthropologist agreed the bodies had been dismembered with a chain saw.

  “Time to crank things up with Mr. Jenkins,” Ryan said. He whispered a prayer before he reentered the interrogation room. Help me know if he’s our guy, he said. Help us get the closure we need.

  The door to the interrogation room opened and the frantic face of the young officer he’d left inside poked out. “Somebody help me!”

  Ryan rushed inside. Wyatt Jenkins lay on the floor. Ryan knelt beside him. No pulse.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know! He was sitting there quietly. Then he reached into his pocket. I told him to keep his hands where I could see them. He . . . he said it was a mint.”

  The room’s surveillance video would corroborate the young officer’s story. The real question was how had Wyatt Jenkins been savvy enough to sneak in a poison capsule in his jacket? And what had he done that was bad enough he didn’t want to risk going to jail?

  Leigh hadn’t seen Ryan in over twenty-four hours. The longest she’d gone since this drama began two weeks ago.

  Two weeks. How crazy that two weeks ago today he’d knocked on her door, black hair glistening, smiling that smile that made her stomach clench and her palms sweat. That day had been warm for early spring. Sunny.

  Today the sky was dark with heavy clouds. The lake had whitecaps as far as she could see. The rain wasn’t supposed to stop for another forty-eight hours and the ground was saturated. Most of central North Carolina was under a flood warning.

  The knock on the door sent her skipping through the house. She opened it, and once more, Ryan’s smile made her stomach somersault.

  But instead of standing there, awkward and embarrassed, she slid easily into his waiting arms, relishing the way he held her.

  His hands tilted her face up and his lips found hers. Tender and gentle, more a brush than a kiss.

  “Hi,” he said, still cradling her face in his hands.

  She didn’t answer. As the rain pounded on the porch roof, she allowed her hands to explore his face, his chin, his hair before pulling him closer. “Hi,” she whispered against his lips.

  His response left her breathless.

  “Let’s get you inside,” he said.

  “Why? It’s over.”

  “It’s also raining and cold,” he said.

  “I’m not cold.”

  He groaned. “You are a dangerous woman, Leigh Weston.” He laughed as he turned her around and prodded her inside the house.

  Ryan pulled off his coat and draped it across the chair. He took her hand and drew her into the living room and settled them in the oversized chair. She listened as Ryan explained the events of the previous day, concluding with the dramatic death of Wyatt Jenkins.

  “I can’t believe he killed himself.”

  “Me neither. His manneris
ms made me think he was too smooth to be innocent, but I wasn’t convinced of his guilt either. I guess that’s what made him good at it. He was able to fool people into believing he was harmless.”

  “Right up until the part where he cut their heads off,” Leigh said.

  “Exactly.”

  “So it was him?”

  “It certainly looks like it.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “I don’t like not being able to ask him what he was up to. Why he did it. How he did it. Where he did it. This case may be solved, but it is far from being resolved. We may have two more bodies out there somewhere. And who knows if they were the only other victims.”

  She tried to smooth the worried line in his forehead. “You’ll find them,” she said.

  “I hope so.”

  She snuggled against him and he rested his cheek on her head. With his heartbeat in her ear and his arm around her shoulders, she rode the wave as his chest rose and fell in a sigh. She pulled back to look at his troubled face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hmm? Oh, nothing. Thinking.”

  “About?”

  He kissed her forehead. “You.”

  “Um, I’m not sure I like whatever you were thinking that generated that sigh.”

  “I’m waiting for you to come to your senses.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my senses.”

  “It’s been a traumatic couple of weeks.”

  She pulled back further. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve come to your senses?” She tried to brace herself for whatever was coming.

  “Leigh. I’ve been in love with you since high school.”

  The pronouncement left her speechless.

  “You really didn’t know?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “You may be the only one. Rebecca knew. I suspect Kirk would have if he’d been willing to consider it. Which he wasn’t.”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “He was trying to protect you.”

  “From you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure eighteen-year-old me was the best thing for fifteen-year-old you.”

  Leigh would have liked to have found out.

  “For that matter, I’m not sure thirty-three-year-old me is right for thirty-year-old you.”

  Ice flowed through her veins. “What are you talking about?”

  “You saw how things were over the past few weeks. An active investigation is all-consuming. How are you going to handle it when I work until midnight or don’t come home to do anything other than take a shower and then turn around and go back out? And when I’m home but I’m not because my brain is somewhere else, trying to crawl inside the mind of a killer?”

  He reached for her hair and twisted it around his fingers. “I don’t want you to regret anything. And I don’t want you to ever feel like you don’t have a way out.”

  Why was he saying this? “You think I’m sitting here with you out of gratitude? That I don’t . . . that I haven’t . . .”

  He really didn’t know. She thought she’d been obvious, but now that she thought about it, she hadn’t. Sure, she’d kissed him, but maybe he didn’t realize how sacred that was to her.

  He continued to play with her hair, but he was looking at the floor.

  “I think I should tell you something.”

  He tensed.

  “It isn’t bad.”

  He looked at her then. “What don’t I know?”

  His phone buzzed between them. Leigh’s phone buzzed on the table.

  They both groaned and reached for their phones.

  Leigh’s eyes widened as she read the text. She looked at Ryan. “I have to go,” she said.

  “Leigh . . .”

  “He’s dead. I’m not in danger, and I’m not a danger to anyone else.”

  He glanced at his phone again. She knew they’d both received the same alert. The county had created a system a few years ago that included all the phone numbers for doctors, nurses, first responders, firefighters, and police officers. A text blast could be sent out in case of a catastrophic event that would call everyone in.

  They’d tested it a couple of months ago and it had been a huge success.

  This wasn’t a test.

  “I’ll drive you to the hospital,” he said. “Please don’t leave the emergency department without me.”

  His worry was seriously misplaced, but she agreed. “I need three minutes.” She raced to her room, pulled on scrubs, her jacket, and work shoes.

  She was back downstairs in two minutes and found Ryan at the door. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go.”

  24

  Leigh listened to the police chatter on Ryan’s radio as they flew through Carrington’s streets.

  The details were murky, but the first reports indicated a minivan had hydroplaned on the interstate. It clipped a couple of cars before flipping in the median. On the rain-slicked highway, drivers in cars and trucks across all four lanes hit their brakes in an effort to avoid the disabled vehicles. It might have ended in a massive traffic jam if the eighteen-wheeler that was in the thick of it had been able to come to a stop.

  Unfortunately, it had jackknifed across the highway and the number of vehicles involved in this secondary pileup continued to grow.

  To make matters worse, there were already reports of three fatalities and every ambulance in the county was transporting the injured to Carrington’s hospital. The trauma centers in the surrounding communities had been put on alert and at least three helicopters were trying to reach the victims, but the weather wasn’t helping their efforts.

  Ryan’s job would be to help however he was needed—with everything from traffic control to taking statements from the victims.

  They rolled to a stop at the red light in front of the hospital. “Do you have a raincoat in here?” Leigh asked.

  “Are you seriously worried about me getting wet?” His eyes lingered on her neck.

  “I’ll be safe and sound inside. You’ll be outside in this monsoon, with traffic all around you. You’ll be in way more danger than I am.”

  He pulled to a stop in front of the emergency department entrance. “I’ll have my phone,” he said. “Keep yours handy.”

  She reached for the handle, but he pulled her back and kissed her. Hungrily. Desperately. His fear bleeding through his touch.

  “Please be careful. I can’t live without you,” he whispered.

  His confession froze her in place, but only for a moment.

  “You won’t have to.” She watched as a look of amazement spread across his face.

  “Come pick me up when you’re done,” she said.

  She got out of the car and ran inside. As soon as she swiped her badge to enter the department, all thoughts of kisses and love and the future she might have fled.

  “Leigh!” Keri shouted from across the hall. “I need some help.”

  Leigh raced to her friend’s side and pressed a compress against a gaping gash on the head of a teenager. “Glad you’re here,” Keri said. “I’ve got kids on this side—and their hysterical parents. There’s a pregnant lady in four.” Out of the patients’ line of sight, Keri shook her head in sorrow.

  Oh no. Keri was very sensitive to the pregnant mamas, and this one must be in bad shape.

  “We’ve got everything from broken bones and head trauma to whiplash and abrasions.”

  Leigh looked at the teenager whose head continued to gush blood. “Do you know where your parents are?”

  His face fell. “No,” he said. “I . . . I don’t know what happened.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to get you patched up, and then I’ll help you find them. You stick with me, okay?”

  For the next three hours, Leigh didn’t have time to think about anything except the patients in her care. The normal time for shift change came and went, but no one came or went. Everyone who could be there was already there and they weren’t going anywhere
. They’d figure out who was working through the night once things settled—which, based on the number of patients in the waiting room, might not be until tomorrow.

  Leigh had never been so proud of the work she did or the people she did it with. Even in the midst of horror and trauma, their teamwork and skills were beautiful to behold. Tonight, the lines between physicians, nurse practitioners, registered nurses, and the various technicians had blurred as they had all done what needed to be done, regardless of whether it was generally in their job description.

  She leaned against the wall and pulled her phone from her pocket. She’d send a text to Ryan. Something for him to see when he came up for air. The words poured from her heart and onto the screen.

  “Leigh!” A voice called from the last room in the department. “Can you give me a hand?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Love letters would have to wait. She slid the phone into her pocket and dodged people, stretchers, and wheelchairs as she maneuvered down the hall.

  “What do you need?” she asked as she entered the room. She stopped inside the doorway. Where was the patient?

  All her instincts screamed at her and she reversed her steps. She bumped into someone behind her. “Sorry,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  Leigh blinked a few times. Why was everything blurry?

  “You don’t look so hot,” the voice said. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  No. She didn’t need to sit. She needed to get back to the nurses station. Miss Edna would know who had called her.

  Why wouldn’t her feet work?

  She felt something slam into her. Oh wait. No. She’d run into the wall.

  “Come on, now. No need to make this difficult.”

  Oh no. No. No.

  She tried to pull away from the hands that pushed her into the room. At least, she thought it was the room. Was she lying down? Why was she on a bed? Or was she in a chair?

  She fought to keep her eyes open. To stay aware of her surroundings. Was it possible Ryan had been wrong? Was the killer not really her stalker? Had it always been two people, not one?